


Crossroads

by Soledad



Series: The Lost Years [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (1978), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Awesome Uhura, F/M, Lost Years Pilot, Love Story With Space Battles, When Classics Collide, You Can't Beat The Classics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-14 00:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11772045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: The long odyssey of the Colonial fleet comes to an end. But what will they find when - fleeing from another Cylon attack - they enter a mysterious anomaly?





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Cover art by Archet: 
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/14/e9/7c/14e97c57894ee2109725159ac5e20dd9.jpg)  
> 

**An appeal to the reader:**  
I know that introductions are boring. Nobody likes to read them. Not even me. But I ask you to do it nevertheless. This is a beginning of a very long series, and in order to understand it, you need some background facts. Some of us might only be familiar with one of the fandoms in question, and they might want to see the bigger picture.

**INTRODUCTION**

This is the beginning of a crossover series between the original _Star Trek_ and the original _Battlestar Galactica_ (the only one that exists for me). It a great number of multichapter stories, a few of them are already written, many of them in various states of completion. 

Most Star Trek fans know by now that – some 10 years after the original series had been cancelled –, the creator of that series, Gene Roddenberry, and his co-workers developed the so-called bible for a second series. This would have been called _Star Trek II_ , and was to take place during the second five-year-mission of the _Enterprise_ , the time frame of which was planned between 2271 and 2276. The first movie, known as TMP, would have closed this second series.

Unfortunately, this second series was never made, though certain elements can be discovered in _Star Trek – The Next Generation_. However, some of the screenplays were already written, and these – just like some of the unfilmed episodes of the first series – are simply too interesting to let them get lost. Some of them have been turned into episodes of the fan-made series Phase II - and excellently done. Go and watch them, they're worth seeing.

The main difference between my series and the fan films is the crossover that I have made between the original series and my first love in the realm of science fiction, the original _Battlestar Galactica_. Though the latter had not the chance to prove itself (and no, I won't even start about the "re-imagining"), it had wonderful stage arrangements, nice costumes and superior special effects, for the time when it was made – and some other, shamefully neglected supporting characters I’m very fond of: Athena, Colonel Tigh, Rigel, Cassiopeia and Boomer.

“Crossroads” is practically a prelude to the whole series. I tried to use all sources I could get my hand on, considering the second series. But I also tried not to contradict "canon" _Star Trek_ facts. Consequently, all these stories happen after the last episode, _Turnabout Intruder_ , but before _STAR TREK – The Motion Picture_. The series is so constructed, that TMP (i.e. its predecessor, the planned episode _In Thy Image_ ) would be the closing act of this series, since I had to let Decker and Ilia perish before the second _Star Trek_ movie.

In one thing only did I contradict the official _Star Trek_ canon: I consider the episodes of the cartoon series as part of the tradition, too. I could never understand why official sources keep ignoring this series, which was created by Roddenberry himself and gives us useful information for example about Spock’s childhood the replicators and the first glimpse of the holodeck as well as the very first Native American officer in the _Star Trek tradition_ : Ensign Dawson Walking Bear served 20 years earlier aboard the _Enterprise_ than Commander Chakotay aboard the _Voyager_. Not to mention that the animated series gave us the most charming aliens in the _Star Trek_ -universe, thank the opportunities of that technique.

“Crossroads”, featuring the original crew, is not a true pilot, more a tie-in between the original series and the later stories. Its goal is not only to prepare the field for the new situation but also to show the existing but always well-concealed conflicts between the members of the old crew. I tried to work in as much of the minor characters as possible: Dr. M'Benga, Lieutenant Charlene Masters, Lieutenant Boma, Transporter Chief Kyle, Ensign Tamura, Yeoman Zara Jamahl and others. 

I also used some of the _Star Trek_ -novels from Simon&Schuster as a basis. When something is borrowed from a book, I’ll always give the due credit in the Author’s notes.

And now, that you have bravely survived my babbling, on we go. This story has been completed more than ten years ago and will be posted one chapter a day.


	2. The Galactica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the novelization of _The Lost Planet of Gods_ (1) as a guideline. There has been nothing directly taken or quoted, however. All that seems somehow familiar, was originally written in Hungarian, more than twenty years ago, and was translated a decade later into English. I can’t deny having been _influenced_ , however.
> 
> The facts about Cylon society are either from the aforementioned book (which I consider canon) or from the various websites I’ve visited in those years. The idea of the anomaly was borrowed from the original Star Trek novel _Enterprise – The First Adventure_ by Vonda N. McIntyre. I changed it quite a bit, though. And no, I have no idea about astrophysics. I just needed a way to put our heroes through into the Trek-universe.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**CHAPTER 1: THE GALACTICA**

Commander Adama was utterly exhausted. Had he not been greying for _yahrens_ , his hair would be snow white by now anyway, from the sheer hardness his position forced him to endure. And it was not the burden of command alone that made him feel his age more than ever. Although he was not a young man – a hundred and thirty yahrens were considered advanced age, even by Caprican measures –, he still was able to mobilize reserve energies, if necessary, that would have made the youngest warriors under his command unfit to catch up with him. Not that he would have any other choice, really. The burden of command, that – as the warlord of the last Battlestar – he was forced to wear, was a light one compared with his other responsibility: to guide through the most dangerous sectors of space a rag-tag fleet that was never meant for deep space missions. This would have been hard enough, even without the never-lessening threat the Cylon Empire represented.

For the Cylons were implacable. Their leaders decided the termination of mankind, and the Cylon warriors tried unwearingly to execute the decision of their leaders. In fact, they _really_ never got tired. They were like insects, incapable of independent thought, programmed for the extinction of mankind, and either they carried out their program or died trying. That was all they were capable of. And exactly this narrow-mindedness made them the most dangerous enemy mankind had ever faced.

Were they not Cylons, Adama might have admired their persistence; he might have considered them worthy adversaries. But he could not force himself to have any feelings for a society for which free will was a completely absurd idea – not even negative ones. _Aliens_ – that was probably the most accurate description for them. They were the most disturbingly alien race Adama had met in his whole life. Humans couldn’t even try to understand them. What little they knew from the race of the Cylons was frightening enough. What they _didn’t_ know was probably even more horrible.

Cylon society had much in common with insectoid societies. The bottom level was (at least as far as humans knew) that of the common warriors. A Cylon warrior, though born by natural means, was little less than a machine. In fact, they looked a lot like primitive droids in their clumsy armour, and nobody really knew where the armour ended and the Cylon warrior began.

Cylons were cybernetic organisms: life forms that were part of the armour they wore. Due to the sophisticated weapon technology, every Cylon warrior was a small part of an incredibly huge communications net. Like chess pieces, being pushed here and there by their leaders on an oversized board. But the size of their organization was also a disadvantage. So much information was added to the system in every _micron_ that the leaders had to select and only pay attention to the most important events. And though the Cylon leaders had more than one brains (the highest-ranking ones actually had _three_ ) that supported them in this, luckily for Adama – and for mankind in general – they were not purely super-machines. They could – and did – make mistakes.

The Cylons had difficulties with independent actions. The fact that they were so dependant on their leaders was an advantage for humans, because they had nothing akin the human inventiveness. They worked with stiff effectivity in battle while human pilots improvised and followed their instincts. In a one-to-one situation they had no chance against a human warrior.

The only problem was that the Cylons never fought in one-to-one situations. Their raiders usually flew in groups of three, and their warriors... _worked_ in a battle like a complicated circuitry where every link was in constant connection with all others. And exactly _that_ made their roundabout-attacks so dangerous. Human pilots, even such excellent ones as Boomer or Apollo, needed _yahrens_ to learn the reactions of their wingmates and to form a well-oiled unit. Cylons did that by design.

Adama could almost understand why they considered mankind such a threat. The Cylon idea of order and perfection was based on a society where the individual was to serve the common welfare in every possible thing, even the smallest one. A long time ago, human religious leaders, too, followed this theory, but finally human thinking had outgrown it. Even though one might have doubted it, considering the reactions of some Kobolian fundamentalists.

Not so the Cylons – they did not _grow_ , after all, therefore they could not change, either. They developed this theory to its outmost. Every _unit_ was nothing but a little cogwheel in the incredible Cylon machine. And thusly, they managed to create the perfect order – but for a price no human being would be ready to pay. And that was why the Cylon leaders decided that mankind had to be terminated, Adama realized. The destruction of the Colonies was not enough for them. Mankind had to be eradicated. Not a single human being was allowed to survive, because they endangered the perfect order of the Universe – at least as the Cylons understood order.

Adama often asked himself why was it that the Cylons feared mankind so much when their order truly was as strong and unshakable as they assumed. He sometimes thought he knew the answer... and he did not like it.

His only mission was now to survive. Survive, at any price. He could not afford giving up hope. He had to appear strong, so that his troops could trust him, and so that he himself could cling to his hope. But at the moment it felt not easy to look optimistic. The chances weren’t promising…

“Commander...”

A familiar voice shook him out of his pensive mood. Colonel Tigh stood on his side, his aide and second-in-command: a short, dark-skinned, despite his relatively young age silver-haired man, holding the latest reports in his hand. Adama was grateful for his presence. Without Tigh’s unwavering loyalty he might not have managed to bear his burden.

“Reports sound positive, sir,” Tigh said. “If you would...”

Adama nodded, following his aide to the translucent star map that covered the whole back wall of the command center and watched silently while Tigh choreographed the new flight path for the fleet. The nimble, dark fingers of the Colonel had almost a life of their own as they sought out the best way through the seemingly chaotic lines of the star map. The silver family signet-ring on the little finger of his left hand awakened memories in the old commander; memories that he thought (or hoped) long forgotten. That ring was the only thing that remained Tigh from his family and from the old mansion where his people had lived for nine generations.

Though almost a generation apart in age, long ago, during the Thousand Yahren War that ended so abruptly with the false peace offer of the Cylons and their treacherous attack that resulted in the destruction of the Colonies, Adama and Tigh had been a team – and a famous one, due to their recklessness and skills. Tigh had been hardly more than a child when he first got into the cockpit of a Viper, which was the very reason why they made him Adama’s wingmate – in truth, though, he was the more sober and careful one of the both of them, keeping his impulsive wingmate from taking unnecessary risks more than once.

It was a shame that Tigh never achieved the command chair of a Battlestar that he would so richly deserve. When Adama, having calmed down considerably, took over the supreme command of the fleet, he often suggested Tigh for such a position. Unfortunately, as careful and considerate Tigh was in battle situations, as impulsively he spoke his mind in the wrong places, so his own command had been denied him every time. Time and again Adama warned him to choose his words more carefully, but the impulsive Colonel had little patience with the quirks of politics and he told it, too, every time, with a flowery... eloquence – regardless of the given situation.

In the command center of the _Galactica_ Adama greatly valued Tigh’s almost brutal honesty – in fact, he depended on it. Still, Tigh had deserved his own command, and now that he had the whole fleet under military rule, Adama would gladly give him that chance – if there were any other Battlestars the command chair of which he could have occupied.

“We have the new route, sir,” Tigh reported. “We can give the changes into the navigation computer and send them to the other ships.”

Adama’s eyes followed Tigh’s hand; he studied the new route and the changing of the vectors. “I don’t like it,” he said quietly. 

Tigh looked surprised. “But that is the only logical route, Commander! Look, how it brings us farther away from...”

“I don’t like it, nevertheless. When something looks so easy and convenient, it needs to be examined very closely. For our own safety.”

The corner of Tigh’s mouth curved to an ironic smile. “I thought you’d be ecstatic. Sixteen Cylon raiders have we destroyed during that last attack.”

“And how many of them had a crew?”

Tigh hesitated before answering. “We only scanned six of them. In none of those could we found any Cylons. But you know as well as I do, Commander, that the scanners aren’t always reliable during a battle. They _can’t_ be fully reliable...”

“Still, it’s not an unjustified assumption that the Cylons might send fully automated raiders against us.”

“Well, as an assumption...”

“They might _want_ us to destroy those machines. To lure us into false safety, without sacrificing their warriors.”

Tigh nodded. “The thought occurred to me, I admit. On the other hand, the Cylons fell back, until...” he pointed at the star map; “ _that_ point. That is a considerable distance. Big enough to hope that they have lost our trail.”

Adama gave a cursory glance the network of shining points in the sector Tigh had pointed out. “I doubt it. I think they are still just behind us, barely out of the range of our sensors. Just like their basestars.” He turned away from the map. “Whatever we do, one thing is sure – we can’t turn back.”

“And _when_ exactly have we ever turned back and fought?”

Adama heard the frustration in the voice of his aide. Often had Tigh voiced his wish to cease fleeing and turn back and blast the whole Cylon war machine out of the skies. Not that Adama would blame him for that, especially since in the heart of his hears he had the same wish. On the other hand...

“Look!” he said, producing a small laser pointer from his pocket and directing the narrow beam at the upper part of the star map. “Directly above us is the planet _Cassarion_ – according the _War Book_ and old Cylon garrison. So we can’t go there.” He guided the beam lower, towards the bottom of the map. “Below us is the _Sellian_ asteroid belt: the billion ruins of that world, destroyed by the Cylons. We could never cross it with these big, clumsy ships. And through all that rubbish Apollo and Boomer could not burn a path as they did through the mine field at _Carillon_.”

“Our route is clear then,” Tigh shrugged. “Straight forward. Where the patrols reported a safe transit.”

“That would be way too easy,” Adama murmured absently.

“Commander?”

Adama raised his voice. “That last defeat of the Cylon raiders, their unexpected withdrawal...”

“Unexpected? The _Galactica_ beat them!”

“Yes... it looks like that, does it not?”

A sparkle of understanding appeared in Tigh’s expressive, dark eyes. “And the truth?” he asked, challenging his commander to share his thoughts with him as always.

“It might be purely instinct from my side,” Adama answered slowly, “which, of course, is sometimes more than simple facts. But I believe we are slowly, carefully maneuvered... _ushered_ towards that... that safe transit route.”

Athena, having stepped up to her father during the conversation, unexpectedly joined it, though it was not her way to intrude into the counsels of her commanding officers – not even if one of them was her own father.

“Why would they do that?” she glanced at the star map, as if she could see beyond its curved lines and blinking lights that endless, black nothing with its few stars that reality beyond the symbols of the map in truth was “What might be out there?”

“I don’t know, Athena. Maybe a _coul-de-sac_ ”(2), the commander said, borrowing a Gemonese expression. “Maybe something a lot more dangerous than all Cylon basestars. But I don’t like it.” He turned back to Tigh. “We need more patrols.”

The Colonel didn’t answer immediately, which surprised Adama. “What is it, Tigh? You disagree?”

“Commander, we have pressed our pilots too hard lately. They are on the brink of exhaustion.”

“We all are, Tigh. But there is something else that worries you, is it not?”

“Well, sir, when you asked... I’m worried by the fact that we have to put more and more half-trained cadets into the Vipers. Too many. And that’s dangerous.”

Adama thought of the cadets he had seen a few days ago and that positively radiated exhaustion – both that of body and of spirit. These young men and women were not prepared by the Caprican Military Academy for all the trials and tribulations they might have to face during their career; they were not given solid basics in theory or a detailed, thorough survival training. Need dictated that they would be thrown into the middle of the battle as soon as they were able to know their way around the cockpit of a Viper. And more often that simply was not enough.

The commander wished he could instruct his aide to call back all Vipers, to call back _everyone_ from out there, back to the relative safety of the _Galactica_. Only that it was impossible, of course. Like it or not, he had to risk the lives of these young people, in order to save everyone else.

“Of course it’s dangerous. But what other choice do we have, when the Cylons are still following us... and who knows what lies before us?”

Tigh nodded reluctantly, and his suddenly saddened eyes told clearly how much he disliked the Commander’s decision, even if he understood its necessity.

“Colonel,” Adama said gently, “it’s no use. We _must_ increase our patrols, even if that means that we have to send out the cadets. According to the Fleet Archive, never have our ships visited this sector before... or if they have, they did not return to tell the tale.”

The slender, dark-haired Athena, wearing the blue uniform of the bridge officers, touched his arm. “Father...?”

Adama gave her a disapproving look. He never tolerated liberties on the bridge, not even from his daughter who was closer to him than anybody else – not the last because she became more and more alike her late mother with every passing day. Athena took the hint and squared her shoulders.

“ _Commander_. As you are certainly aware of the fact, I have been properly trained as a Viper pilot. I respectfully ask to be detailed to the fighting squadrons.”

Both men smiled. This was not the first time that Athena tried to escape bridge duty, but her request had always been denied. Like this time.

“Athena,” her father answered, shaking his head, “You know that I can’t do that. You are needed here, on the bridge.”

“Yes, sir,” Athena said, not the least disguising her anger and disappointment.

Tigh could understand her disappointment very well, for he, too, wanted to get into a cockpit and go out with his squadrons. More than once had he asked Adama to allow him to return to the fighting troops, since he still was not too old to bear the strain of the starts, and his vast experience would be a great help for the young pilots. But Adama denied _his_ request as well every time, saying that he was more needed on the bridge.

On the bridge... there were times when he positively _hated_ the bridge. Bridge duty meant that he had to stand in front of the screens and watch how the young pilots that he had come to love and respect during training for their heroism and selfless sacrifices, were killed one by one. The longer their flight lasted, the less he could endure to be kept away from the fighting, condemned to simply watch... and he knew, Athena felt the same.

Suddenly the voice of Captain Boomer, the leader of Red Squadron came through the telecom. “Red Leader to base. Colonel, we found something very… strange. Could we have a quick long-range scan? I’ll send in the coordinates.”

Tigh nodded to the main bridge officer, but the experienced and utterly reliable Lieutenant Omega was already feeding Boomer’s request into the bridge computer. The Colonel leaned over the microphone of the telecom.

“Base to Red Leader. Scan is going on. Don’t approach until further instructions!”

“Acknowledged,” the careful and intelligent Boomer replied and broke the comm link.

Tigh turned to Adama with worried eyes. According to malevolent opinions, the aide of the Commander always found something to worry about, especially when he could express his worries in neatly-featured written reports. Of course, this was not true… well, not entirely. Several time had Tigh expressed his willingness to be converted to the Kobolian Way – assuming that there was no need to write reports in heaven.

“Commander?”

“What is it, Tigh?” he asked tiredly.

“Red Squadron found something in the Sigma-sector, sir.”

Adama turned sharply. “You mean directly before us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do we have a visual?”

“Telemetry is coming in, sir,” said Omega in Tigh’s stead, watching the incoming date on the screen of the rotating command module.

“Put it on the big screen,” Adama ordered.

Omega’s long, thin fingers danced upon the keyboard with amazing speed. Less than six microns later, the big screen of the bridge came to life.

“By the Lords of Kobol,” voiced his astonishment another twenty-three microns later Adama, “what _is_ that?”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“According to ancient astronomy records such phenomena do exist – even though, to my best knowledge, nobody has ever seen anything like that since the foundation of the Twelve Colonies.”

Dr. Wilker, one of the few scientists who survived the Cylon attack at Cimtar – a short, thin, silver-haired Scorpian aristocrat with elegant behaviour – watched the raging energy storm on the big screen with unveiled ecstasy. Huge clouds of cosmic dust were streaming towards something that looked like an irregularly-shaped rift in the time-space-continuum and broke apart into more tendrils of aggressive energy. The light that they _could_ see (meaning the wavelength of the spectrum, visible for the human eye) was but a fraction of the radiation that was raging out there.

“You still haven’t told us _what_ that is, Doctor,” Adama reminded him. Wilker shook off his scientific ecstasy and shot another cursory look at the measuring records.

“Well, considering the intensity of this storm of hard radiation, this is doubtlessly a naked singularity, that...”

“Just one moment,” Tigh interrupted him; the Colonel had some astrophysics during his Academy years, the basics only, but enough to understand what the scientist was talking about. “We now that a singularity is basically nothing else but a collapsed star, surrounded by an incredibly strong gravitation field, due to its extreme density. But this… anomaly has no solid core at all, if we can trust our instruments.”

“That’s why it is called a _naked_ singularity,” Wilker answered delightfully. “Such anomalies are extremely rare. This is, to put it blunt, simply a hole in space... a spontaneous rift in the texture of the time-space continuum that exists for a while, and then snaps closed just as spontaneously.”

“Well, it certainly closed _our_ escape route,” Captain Apollo, the leader of Blue Squadron, remarked scowling. 

But his father shook his head. “I’m not so sure. Dr. Wilker, what could be on the other side of such a... rift?”

The scientist shrugged with his narrow shoulders. “Another solar system, another galaxy... maybe another universe. Who could tell? Not even the most ancient legends mention that someone had ever crossed one of them to take a look.”

Adama nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Not _yet_ , anyway.”

“At least the analysis of Dr. Wilker solves the question,” Tigh said. “We can’t go that way. The radiation is too strong. Maybe if we follow its seams in a safe distance, we can go _around_ the anomaly, or... what do you think, Commander? Commander!"

Adama, still deep in his thoughts, started leaving. “I will be in my office. Until further instruction keep this route.”

“But that would lead us directly into the anomaly, sir!” Tigh protested. “May I propose...”

“Follow my orders, Colonel!”

After Adama - slowly like a sleepwalker - left the bridge, Apollo and Tigh exchanged worried, confused looks as if they had got sudden doubts about the sanity of their leader. After a moment Tigh shrugged helplessly, gave orders to keep the current route and collapsed into the command chair. He had known Adama long enough and well enough to have an idea what the Commander was planning... and that frightened him out of his mind, though he was not one who easily panicked.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Four _centon_ s later Tigh was relieved by Omega and pushed the buzzer button next to the Commander’s door. Adama, as expected, was sitting in his study, reading an ancient, yellow-paged, battered book: the _Koboliana_ , also called the _Book of the Worlds_.

“Our route?” he asked.

“We are following the course ordered by you, sir. X-ray radiation is getting stronger. Soon, we’ll reach critical levels.”

Adama nodded and looked Tigh straight in the eyes. “I see you know what I am going to do… and disagree.”

“It is not my place to...”

“Oh, come down from your epaulettes, Tigh! I need someone to talk.”

Tigh relaxed a little and sat down on the corner of Adama’s desk, as it was your custom under less formal circumstances.

“Adama,” he began in a calmer voice – his _civilian_ voice – “I know what you hope from this move, but it’s insane. Scans report a magnitude of radiation storms that even the _Galactica_ would be hard-pressed to withstand, and the shields of the other ships are not nearly strong enough. I am sorry to say, Commander, but should the Cylons still be after us, I’d chose them.”

Now that he finally had spoken everything that was on his mind, Tigh shrugged with a sigh, like someone who did not really expect for his arguments to be considered seriously. Adama watched the expression on his face with tilted head for a while, then he lifted a little that battered old book.

“According to the _Koboliana_ the Thirteenth Tribe, on their search for Earth, crossed a star-gate that closed right after their passing. We have been following the path of that tribe, as far as the inscriptions in the Tombs of Kobol could guide us...”

Tigh shook his head hopelessly. “You would lead our people to certain death, based on the legends of the _Koboliana_ and a few inscriptions that you have seen for mere _micron_ s only?”

“You brought up the same arguments when we crossed the Great Darkness... and have we not found Kobol on the other side of that dark void?”

“Just because we had incredible luck that one time, I wouldn’t bow to all the superstitious doctrines of that outlived book,” answered Tigh dryly. “Forgive me, Adama. You know that I am... I am simply not a believer. Oh, I would like to be one, very much so – every time we re-start this argument, I feel the aching emptiness of being a heretic. But I’ve outgrown the time when I still could believe in wonders, and maybe it would be good for you, too...”

Adama thought for a moment about Tigh’s comment – and smiled. “Well, maybe if you have to face a few true wonders, you would be won over, too.”

“Maybe,” Tigh said, but his voice was full of doubt. Truth to be told, he didn’t even _want_ to be won over. He was comfortable living as an agnostic.

Adama shifted on his seat. That barely recognizable move made his expression, his behaviour, his whole being military once again. “We will go through that anomaly, Tigh.”

“I am aware of that, sir,” Tigh replied even more dryly. “I just hope you are right.”

“Trust me, old friend.”

“I do, sir. That’s what I have done all my life. And you always have been right… so far. I only fear that this is the time when you might be wrong – and _that_ would be the end of us all.”

“I know that all too well. But it’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

“Yes, sir.”

The calm, friendly tone vanished from Tigh’s voice; he was all duty now. Adama wished they could remain here and discuss this sensitive topic with the soothingly abstract distance of a scientific point of view. But there were moments when the chain of command offered better leverage. After Tigh – touching his left shoulder with his right hand in a very regular salute – had left, Adama remained behind his desk for a long time, watching the mysterious anomaly on his desktop screen, as if he could solve the secrets of their future this way.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Before the Fleet reached the perimeter of the dangerous anomaly, Tigh gave Adama one last, very persuasive speech, trying to make him change his mind. It was still not too late, he argued insistently, lowering his voice so that the bridge officers wouldn’t hear their discussion, since that would have undermined morale that was shaky at best anyway. They could still change the vectors and avoid the inferno that was raging outside, sneaking around its perimeter, and who knows, even the Cylon fleet might lose their trail again. So near to an energy storm of this magnitude they could not use their instruments properly either, after all.

Adama listened to him patiently then reminded him that the same was true for the sensors of the _Galactica_ , not to mention the other, less well-equipped vessels.

“It is a very real danger that – due to some navigational error – we might get into the magnetic field of the anomaly anyway, and without reliably functioning instruments we won’t be able to change our course. On the other hand, when we aim at the exact middle of the anomaly and follow that route straight, we have a good chance to pass it. Thank to the scrambling of their scanners by all that energy out there the Cylons won’t be able to find us.”

“Presuming that anybody will survive to be found!” Tigh answered angrily.

Adama touched the white gem that adorned the broche upon his throat, shot a cold side look at the Colonel and said quietly but in a voice that bore no argument: “We are going through.”

Right after they had crossed the perimeter, however, and the incredibly strong radiation storms began to shake the smaller ships like fragile nutshells, even Adama began to doubt the wisdom of his own decision. He ordered the Fleet to remain in a tight formation, but emergency calls kept coming in from the captains of the transport ships nevertheless, since they felt it more and more difficult to keep contact to the huge Battlestar.

“Navigators report an increasing fluctuation on the instruments, due to magnetic interference,” Omega said; his voice slightly trembled as he tried to hide his fear, and that frightened Tigh more than everything. Omega was not one to lose his calm easily. In fact, it hadn’t happened before. Ever. Not even at Cimtar.

It seemed, however, that _everyone_ was losing their nerves as the anomaly crept closer and closer like some monstrosity with a malevolent sentience of its own. The more sensitive members of the crew had a feeling of inevitable death gripping their hearts. Tigh couldn’t suppress his concern that was now clearly visible on his dark, elegant face, and even the otherwise so calm and unflappable Rigel, who never lost an unnecessary word on the bridge, became nervous and chatty. Whenever they asked for the orders to be acknowledged, Adama calmly and quietly replied that they would keep this route.

It occurred to no one to measure the time it took them to cross the anomaly. Why should they? The main computer did it anyway, without an extra instruction. The navigators wrestled with their belligerent instruments with clenched teeth in order to be able to keep their course – going on autopilot would have been suicide under these circumstances when the whole electronics could go haywire due to the constantly increasing interferences.

The rift itself reminded of the _Shining Road_ – the incredible, ten thousand _metron_ long ice labyrinth on the northern polar continent of Libra – with its maelstrom of blinding colours and chaotic patterns. When somebody lost his way here they were lost for good, just like some careless cave searchers on the _Shining Road_... only that _here_ a mistake would mean the inevitable destruction of the rest of mankind. Adama knew this as well as Tigh did... but even if he would give in to his own doubts, there simply was no way back any more.

“Commander,” he heard through the thick fog of his own fear Omega’s astonished, though still shaking voice, “the anomaly...”

Adama turned sharply to the main screen that had been covered by the maelstrom of too bright colours ever since they crossed the perimeters. It seemed him as if the chaotic colours had begun to fade.

“The anomaly is now behind us,” Tigh assured him, not quite able to use his voice properly yet. “Screens will be operative in a few _microns_ – I mean those that haven’t burnt out.”

“Forward sensory array is operative again,” Athena reported in utter relief.

“Put it on the big screen,” Tigh ordered.

Athena obeyed. The fading colours on the big screen gave way to a grainy, grey vibration as always when interferences were jamming the sensors. Then the picture became clear; first it showed the velvety darkness of an unknown sector of space, adorned with bright constellations none of them had ever seen before...

And directly in front of them, a ship floated in that endless darkness. An incredibly smooth, shining white ship. It had a hull shaped like a huge _fumarillo_ , attached to a dish-like forward section by pylons like a seabird’s neck, with two slender nacelles lancing out of it backwards, like the wings of the same bird, except of the crackling red antimatter activity on their front end. Soft green and red running lights blinked around the dish section, while the forward and aft lights were bright white. In the front of the hull there was a thick golden deflector dish, probably some energy generator that fed the shields of the unknown vessel. But it could be some sort of sensor array as well. It was too different to be sure. The name of the ship was displayed in large, black letters on top of the dish section – unfortunately, none of them could read them. Just as none of them had ever seen a vessel quite like this.

“Where can we be now?” voiced Athena the question that was in their all minds. “And who can build a ship like that?”

“I have no idea,” her father admitted, “but there is a way to find out. Rigel, send out Red and Blue Squadrons. When all Vipers have started, we’ll try to contact that ship. If we can see them, they surely can see us as well.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Omega, check if all our ships have crossed the anomaly. Then order all captains to leave the danger zone far enough so that no magnetic interference would scramble their instruments. As soon as we’ve found out whom we are dealing with, we’ll continue our journey. This is not a safe place to wait.”

“Understood, Commander.”

“Athena, prepare for first contact. As soon as our ships have gone to safe distance, call that ship on all known frequencies.”

“Yes, sir.”

And while Rigel, now her calm and competent self again, ordered the Vipers to start when ready, Omega delivered orders to the other captains and Athena prepared the com system for a wide-band contact, Adama tried to order his thoughts to greet the citizens of this unknown sector properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) "The Tombs of Kobol" by Glen A. Larsen and Robert Thuster.  
> (2) Yeah, I know, it’s not very original to have French for Gemonese, not even my idea, but since there were no languages invented for the colonies, I had to use _something_
> 
> The next part will be more original, I promise. This one was just a necessary evil, in order to launch the story.


	3. The Fugitives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one thing: should you be a devoted fan of Captain Kirk, this story isn’t the right one for you. Heck, the whole series isn’t the right reading stuff for you if you like him.
> 
> Also, forgive me the almost complete lack of special speech patterns for Scotty and Chekov – English was a challenge in itself for me when I wrote this story some 20 years ago, and I didn't dare to mess around with it at the time.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**CHAPTER 2: THE FUGITIVES**

Discovering a rift in the time-space continuum is exciting. _Watching_ the same rift for the length of three standard months is a lot less exciting. But such less-than-pleasant duties are part of the lives of starship captains just as much as the excitement of new discoveries. Which doesn’t mean, of course, that they do it with the same enthusiasm. The only reason why Captain Kirk hadn’t got any screaming fits so far was that his Science Officer (who happened to be his Vulcan First Officer as well) told him that the rift was slowly closing and calculated the probability of a spontaneous disappearance for 37,3.6. standard days later... emphasising, of course, that this was a _very_ rough estimate only.

Twenty-two days before this calculated deadline Captain Kirk had nearly fallen asleep in the middle of Alpha Shift when the automated klaxons of Yellow Alert began to howl.

“Yellow alert! Yellow alert!” the mechanical voice of the main computer said calmly. “Unidentified vessel on approach route.”

Mr Spock switched off his scientific console without further orders (he was working on a personal project during this eventless observation mission) and peered into the hooded slit of his scanner.

“Long-range sensors detected an object in the exact centre of the rift, Captain,” he reported in that emotionless voice only an utterly surprised Vulcan was capable of. “It is a... starship of unknown configuration, sir.”

“Full magnification, Mr Spock!

“Aye, Captain.”

Spock modified something on his instruments, and the whole Alpha Shift watched almost as under a spell as a huge grey spaceship, not unlike some prehistoric reptile, slowly crawled out of the time-space-rift.

“Old and rather battered, sir,” Scotty commented from behind his engineering station. “Clear signs of over-usin' all around. Besides, I’d bet that these people don’t even possess a warp drive.”

“But they do have rather efficient laser cannons, Meester Scott,” Chekov injected. “They might be inferior to our phasers or photon torpedoes, but they could have an impressive penetrating force nevertheless. And the whole thing is very big, _Kepteen_. I’d say we’re dealing with a destroyer here, maybe with a mothership for several squadrons of one-man fighters. There have to be _thousands_ of people on board, sir!”

“Indeed, Lieutenant,” Spock agreed, unmistakably curious now. “Still, it should be clear for us all than neither the Federation, nor the _Rihannsu_ , not even the Klingons have ever built a ship like that.”

“Starfleet database doesn’t contain the design either,” Scott added, knowing more about the ships described in Federation databases than the other 429 members of the standard crew put together.

“Conclusions?” Kirk asked.

Spock decided against a shrug in the last moment. “Logically, Captain, these people are either coming from another part of our galaxy or from another galaxy entirely... or else from a completely different universe. Under the given circumstances, the latter seems to me the most likely solution.” 

“You are speculating based on probabilities, Mr Spock?” teased Dr McCoy who, like others, tried to escape the boredom of this mission on the bridge. “Why, _that_ is certainly a first!”

Spock ignored the remark, which angered the doctor more than any biting reply. His words were aimed at Kirk alone when he answered.

“Captain, this is a probability of roughly 89,6.2 per cent. Since I have no exact data at the moment, I’m incapable of offering you a conclusion of a hundred per cent probability.”

There was quiet laughter all over the bridge; the officers shook their heads patiently. Spock’s speech patterns were worth of an exhausting semantic analysis, even for those who had served with him since the times of Captain Pike.

“Captain!” Lieutenant Uhura, who never stopped watching the big screen, cried out in excitement. “’Look! There are other ships coming out of the rift!”

Alpha Shift turned to the big screen like one man (plus a Vulcan). Indeed, Lieutenant Uhura was right: there were other ships crawling through the rift in time-space, maybe two hundred all together(1). They were vastly different in shape: some of them looked like a stubby-nosed stuffed animal, others like big, flat pearls on a string, others elegantly-swept like rare seashells. There were a few that had large, transparent domes above their mid-section, as if they were flying greenhouses. But every single one was of unknown design, every single one was quite big – not to mention slow and clumsy. Around them, like swift butterfly-swarms, small one-man-fighters were circling.

“Red Alert!” Kirk ordered. “Full power to the deflector shields, Lieutenant Chekov.”

“Aye, sir!”

“Captain,” Lieutenant Uhura said quietly. “These people can’t do us any harm! Their level of technology is clearly much lower than ours... and it seems that they are fleeing from a superior enemy.”

Spock turned with his chair and aimed an inquiring eyebrow towards the beautiful, compassionate dark face of their communications officer. “May I ask what has led you to this conclusion, Lieutenant?” he asked.

Uhura shrugged. “Call it intuition or a hunch… as you wish. But even without a thorough scan we can see that only the first ship is equipped with proper defensive weapons. All the others must be transport units, living quarters or agroships. The unusual size makes me think that they might even be generation ships. I am sure that what we are seeing here is the rest of a once thriving civilization.”

“Your analysis does not lack a certain logic,” Spock admitted; then he turned back to Kirk. “Do you want to initiate First Contact, Captain?”

“That’s why we are out here, isn’t it? To seek out new worlds and new civilizations…” Kirk replied. “Lieutenant Uhura, link the universal translator to your com-console and send standard greetings on all frequencies.”

“Standard greetings on all frequencies, aye, sir.”

Uhura worked feverishly on her console. After a few moments she stiffened in her seat and raised a slender, dark hand to her ear-receiver in utter disbelief. “Incoming message, sir. It’s... it’s unbelievable! Speech patterns are rather… strange, for sure, bout the roots lay doubtlessly in one of the ancient Earth languages.”

“ _What_? Which one?”

“Sanskrit, sir.”

Naturally, it was Spock who overcame his bewilderment first. “Are you absolutely sure, Lieutenant?”

Uhura shrugged apologetically. “Absolutely, sir.”

“Does it mean that you speak that language, too?” Dr. McCoy asked in amazement.

“I can understand it... more or less,” Uhura said. “It’s a language of incredible complexity. The classic variation has not been spoken on Earth for centuries, but it is still taught to human communications experts, because it makes the study of extraterrestrial idioms a lot easier.”

“In that case put our visitors on the big screen, Lieutenant,” Kirk ordered.

Uhura switched the incoming message from her console to the big screen, which now was showing a white-haired old man, whose deeply furrowed face showed a great deal of inner strength nevertheless. The universal translator slightly modified his elderly, but not the least weak voice as it turned the sentences that sounded like some obscure dialect of Sanskrit to Uhura’s ears, into Federation Standard.

“To the unknown vessel in front of us: this is Commander Adama speaking from the Battlestar _Galactica_. We come in peace. Please identify yourselves and tell us in which galactic quadrant we have travelled to.”

Kirk exchanged bewildered looks with his officers. Spock, as usual, gave no outer sign of being surprised ( _if_ he was surprised at all), but the others stared at the screen literally with their mouths open.

“They’re human!” McCoy voiced the recognition of all the others.

“Considering the circumstances analysed by Lieutenant Uhura, this should not be such big a surprise,” Spock commented with understated irony.

Dr McCoy was just beginning to warm up for a lengthy speech about the cold-heartedness of Vulcans in general and Spock in particular, but Kirk stopped him by rising from his command chair and stepping into the focus of the imaging system.

“This is Captain James T. Kirk, commanding officer of the Federation starship USS _Enterprise_ ,” he introduced himself. “You have just passed a rift in the space-time continuum and are well within the borders of the United Federation of Planets.”

The strikingly marked features of the old man mirrored insecurity. “What Federation? I regret to admit, but I hear this name for the first time in my life. But you look like a human... you even speak our language!”

“This is not surprising, considering the possibility that you are coming from another galactic quadrant or maybe even from another space-time continuum,” Spock interjected. “What you are hearing is our automatic translator system, by the way. The captain is human, indeed; nevertheless, our communications officer is the only one who is still able at least to understand your language.”

“Still?” Commander Adama repeated in surprise.

Uhura rose from behind her console and stepped up to Kirk. “Sanskrit isn’t being spoken on Earth any more, Commander,” she answered with mild compassion. “It has become the treasure of a few wise or well-taught ones. Only a few decades ago has it been included in the training of communications experts.”

“On Earth, you say?” the voice of the old man was shaking with suppressed emotions. “Have you, indeed, said Earth, _Siress_? Are you from Earth?”

“Yes, Commander,” Kirk assured him. “We might be a combined unit, but most of us, indeed, are from Earth... or from one of Earth’s colonies. Does it mean that you have heard from our planet?”

“This is a rather illogical question, Captain,” Spock commented. “Were Earth an unknown planet for them, they could hardly be speaking Sanskrit. In fact, we have to consider having discovered a long-lost human civilization.”

“Correction accepted and filed, Mr Spock. As always, you are absolutely right.”

“Now, you are exaggerating, Jim!” Dr McCoy remarked disapprovingly.

There came soft laughter through the telecom, proving that the short exchange had been heard and understood on board of the other vessel. In the meantime the old commander seemed to have collected himself a little.

“Yes, Captain,” he said, breathing heavily, “we happen to know Earth very well. From old legends only, of course, but the fact that you know our language so well proves that you have told us the truth.”

Kirk shrugged in surprise. “Have you expected lies from me?”

“That wouldn’t be the first time,” Adama answered steadfastly. “We have learnt to be mistrusting and very careful. Blind trust had lead to the total destruction of our twelve Colonies; I won’t repeat the same mistake with the remains of our peoples.”

The bridge officers of the _Enterprise_ exchanged shocked looks.

“Twelve whole colonies?” Sulu whispered; as a child he experienced things on _Ganjitsu_ that still gave him nightmares(2), but a destruction of such extent... “How could it have come to such catastrophe?”

“That is a long story, full of sorrow,” Adama replied. “I would be willing to tell you everything that happened to our peoples, as soon as we have contacted your government. We have been fleeing from our enemies for a long time, and before all else, we need to inform your defence forces, so that you, too, won’t be attacked unexpectedly.”

“I can alert Starfleet Command via subspace communication; that way you can meet some of the admirals within twelve standard days,” Kirk offered. “How long, do you think, would it take for your enemy to localize you and to catch up with you?”

Adama turned away a little, obviously wanting to consult one of his officers. “What do you think, Tigh?”

“According to computer estimate about seventeen Earth days,” a deep voice answered somewhere outside the focus of the camera.

“It will be a narrow time slot, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Giotto, the Chief of Security commented. “They might reach the rift before it could close completely. I propose to ask for reinforcements.”

“Well, should their enemies be on the same technology level, they won’t be a match for our phaser cannons and photon torpedoes, _Kepteen_ ,” Chekov stated self-confidently.

“You must take their possible numbers into consideration, Mr Chekov,” the ever-calm, discreetly greying Giotto warned him. “Their lasers might be primitive, but their cumulative effect could be a danger, even for our shields.”

“Better be careful,” Kirk nodded. “Lieutenant Uhura, check please which Federation vessels are patrolling the nearest sectors right now!”

“There is no need for that, sir. Only two standard days ago have the last official reports came in. According to those, we can count on Commodore Katha'sat on the _Kennedy_. And with the new _Intrepid_ , under Captain Suvuk’s command(3).”

“That won’t be much of a help,” Chekov said sourly. “The _Intrepid_ has never fired her phaser cannons so far. We all know how Vulcans think about warfare.”

Dr McCoy shot a pointedly evil look at the First Officer, but Spock, as expected, let himself not be provoked.

“You have a false image about Vulcan pacifism, Ensign Chekov,” he said with utter tolerance. “We despise violence, indeed... but we are very much able to fight when we have no other choice. Therefore, I’d suggest that Lieutenant Uhura should establish subspace contact with both heavy cruisers and give both Commodore Katha'sat and Captain Suvuk a full report about our situation.”

“Fully agreed, Mr Spock,” Kirk nodded. “Would you, by accident, have any information whether one of the destroyers patrols nearby or not? It’s said Vulcans would know everything.”

“That’d be slightly exaggerated, Captain. However, we possess a very good memory and we _remember_ everything.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for the news. Tell me then, if you don’t mind, do you know anything about our destroyers?”

“Well, sir, I do not receive any copies of the secret orders of Starfleet Operations, of course, but it _has_ come to my ears...”

“Small wonder, by _such_ long ears!” Dr McCoy murmured smugly.

“... to my ears,” Spock continued as if he hadn’t heard him, “that the _Divine Wind_ has been ordered to Starbase 18 twenty standard days ago.”

“I see,” Kirk murmured. “And would you happen to know – strictly by accident, of course – what the destroyer has to do at Starbase 18?”

“Not really, Captain. All I know is that Starbase 18 is be prepared for rather – complicated negotiations with the Tholians.”

“I understand,” Kirk grinned, and indeed, he began to see the pattern. “And are these negotiations, purely by accident, being led by Ambassador Sarek?”

“That,” Spock replied, his face an unreadable mask, “is a logical conclusion, Captain.”

“Why, I’m honoured, Mr. Spock. Would it be also logical to assume that Ambassador Sarek is currently the only member of the Federation Council in this sector and therefore should be informed first?”

“Well, sir, I would not say that Starbase 18 is in our sector, but otherwise your logic is flawless.”

“That was a compliment, Jim!” Dr. McCoy warned his commanding officer with a grave face.

“I know that, Bones.”

“Obviously, the doctor is still not familiar with the Vulcan way of thinking,” Spock remarked pointedly. “My words were the result of a purely scientific analysis. Vulcans do not make compliments.”

“I know _that_ , too, Mr. Spock. Would you two, please, cease your banter before you manage to confuse our guests? We have more important things to do here than to listen to your antics.”

“I quite agree, Captain,” Spock answered calmly.

“Of course, Jim,” the doctor said ruefully.

“Do these two always fight like that?” Adama was flabbergasted. Such a behaviour would never have been tolerated on a colonial Battlestar.

“Most of the time,” Kirk answered in his usual, relaxed manner, “but that’s not important. Best solution is if you simply ignore them – that’s what we do, usually. They are very competent, actually, they just don’t get along very well with each other. Well, Commander, since we’ll luckily have the chance to get here Ambassador Sarek within four standard days, our odds are better than I have thought.”

“It would be helpful for me to know who exactly Ambassador Sarek is,” Adama replied in a measured tone.

“Of course, you’re absolutely right,” Kirk nodded. “Ambassador Sarek is not only Vulcan’s representative on Earth, he also has a seat in the Federation Council and has therefore sufficient authority to negotiate about the matters of asylum and immigration. In the name of the Council, naturally.”

“And would this Ambassador Sarek be ready to delay his duties at Starbase 18 for our sake?” Adama asked doubtfully.

“As far as I’m informed, the negotiations with the Tholians are still in a phase of preparation,” Kirk shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure that Mr Spock would put in a word for you.”

“Would he? And how should that help us?”

“Well, he has these things in his blood,” Kirk laughed. “Ambassador Sarek is his father.”

“I see,” Adama said after a short pause, and for the first time a smile appeared on his deeply lined face. “We would be very grateful for such support, of course.”

“The support is mutual, I think,” Kirk replied. “We need information about the enemy that chases you, in order to get prepared. And we need it as soon as possible. There is not much time left.”

“I quite agree,” Adama nodded. “Still, we can use the remaining time for ourselves before we give over things to the diplomats. I would like to invite you over for a visit aboard the _Galactica_ , Captain... like one starship commander the other. Would you be willing to pay us a visit, so that we could discuss things undisturbed? I could send you my shuttle.”

Kirk exchanged a meaningful look with his officers. If the newcomers had no knowledge of teleportation, they would not possess energy shields that could jam transporter beams, either. With other words: the visit aboard the other vessel would be no danger for them at all.

“That is very kind of you, but not necessary,” he answered in a friendly manner. “We have particle transporters on our ship with which we can teleport people or objects through radiation. Would you allow me to take my chief medical officer and my communications expert with me?”

“Of course, Captain. What would be the time of your arrival?”

“Just a moment,” Kirk turned to his chief engineer. “How long will you need, Scotty?”

“Approximately six standard minutes, Captain. Transporter Chief Kyle has to double-check the settings. We wouldnae let you materialize in a solid steel bulkhead, sir.”

“Materialize...” that deep voice from before murmured, still outside of the focus of the camera. “It must be an interesting technology, Adama. And far superior to ours.”

“We'd love to offer you the experience, if you want,” Kirk promised. “If you’d excuse us... we have to get down to the transporter room. _Enterprise_ out.”

Uhura broke contact and called to the bridge per intercom Lieutenant Palmer from Beta Shift to take over the com-consol. Then she hung the narrow strap of the modified communications tricorder over her shoulder, put the hand-held communicator on her tool belt and hurried down to the transporter room to beam over to the other starship in the company of Kirk, Lieutenant Commander Giotto and Dr. McCoy.

Rarely was she given the chance to take part in such “outdoor” missions: only when her special expertise was needed. Her work usually bound her to the com-console, and she learnt about the new discoveries from the reports of the away teams. There were times when she seriously doubted whether it was worth putting on a uniform, although she loved her work, of course, and wouldn’t give up the chance to make contact with such amazingly alien sentient beings of whom most people on Earth haven’t even heard yet.

This time, however, she had earned the right to take part in the mission. She alone could directly, without the translator, understand the newcomers. She knew Spock would call her reaction illogical; still, she couldn’t help but being a little proud of that.

“Transporter is ready, sir,” Lieutenant Kyle reported, sweating with concentration. “We’ve locked on to the bridge of the _Galactica_ ; you may beam over now.”

“Energize,” Kirk ordered, and the golden transporter beam swallowed the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Yeah, well, I increased a little the number of the fugitives, in order to make them able to populate new planets in the future. Do forgive me, canon purists!
> 
> (2) Sulu’s family background only appears in Vonda N. McIntyre’s novels. According to those, his father was a poet and his mother a botanist. They lived on different colony words, though Sulu often visited his grandfather on Earth.
> 
> (3) These starships and their commanders appear in the novels of Diane Duane.


	4. An Exchange of Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of the destruction of the Twelve Worlds has been told following the one in Glen A. Larsen’s various novelizations. It is at times slightly different from the episodes, and a lot more detailed.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 3: An Exchange of Information**

The _Galactica_ looked the same from the inside as she looked on the outside: huge, darkened and somehow... without any comfort, as if all the useless hope of the long years had covered the grey metal bulkheads with an invisible layer of doom. The unnaturally pale face of the bridge officers revealed the fact that they hadn’t left their enclosed steel world for a very long time. The whole ship reminded Uhura of old 2D-movies from the twentieth century in which the crew of submarines, severed from their base, fought a hopeless fight of simple survival on a few square meters of cold iron.

On a somewhat heightened, circular pedestal of the core command station (which could have easily hosted the entire bridge of the _Enterprise_ ) a tall, slender man and a lovely young woman were sitting behind the controls. They wore a blue uniform with silver adornments, signalling that they were bridge officers. On the high collars of the black-belted tunics two small silver rank pins were gleaming. The long, thick single braid of the woman shone softly in the dim light of the bridge.

In the background of Tactical, in front of the magnificent star map made of a translucent material that Uhura didn’t know, the commanding officer on duty stood. He was not very tall, and slender yet strong, his skin darker than even Uhura’s, and his bearing demanded respect and obedience. He might have been some 40-45 standard years old, but his thick, curly hair was already interwoven with silver threads. Large dark eyes, a wide nose and full lips, pressed tightly together, gave his proud and noble face a Nubian look. On the silver clasp of his belt there was another symbol showing his high rank.

As soon as the officers of the _Enterprise_ stepped out of the golden-shimmering transporter beam, the commanding officer stepped down from the circular pedestal and came to great them, with the spare, disciplined movements of someone who had spent his entire life in narrow cabins and even more narrow cockpits.

“Welcome on board,” he said, and Uhura recognized the deep, throaty voice they just have heard through telecom a few minutes ago. “I’m Colonel Tigh, second-in-command of the _Galactica_.”

Kirk stretched out his hand. To his surprise, Tigh didn’t squeeze it but clasped his forearm in a manner that must have been the proper way of greeting among his people. After a short hesitation the Captain of the _Enterprise_ returned the unusual gesture.

“Captain James T. Kirk. If I may make the introductions: our communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura, our chief of security, Lieutenant Commander Giotto and our chief medical officer, Dr. McCoy.”

“My pleasure, doctor... Lieutenant Commander,” Tigh greeted the security chief and the doctor the same way as he had greeted Kirk only moments earlier, but he lifted Uhura’s hand politely to his lips and kissed it, “ _Siress_ Uhura. Would you, please, follow me? Commander Adama is waiting for you in his briefing room.”

“Sure, Colonel,” Kirk nodded.

“Omega,” Tigh turned to the tall bridge officer, “take over for me here, please. Should I be needed, you can reach me through the Commander’s comm unit.”

“Understood, Colonel,” Omega rose from behind his console. “Rigel, could you call in someone to relieve me?”

The lovely young woman with the long braid cast a disapproving look at Uhura’s short uniform tunic, then she turned with her stool and bent over a stabile microphone. Tigh tore the steel headset from his head, threw it onto one of the disabled consoles and gestured to the visitors.

“Over here, please!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Commander Adama’s ready room was adjoined with the bridge - as it was necessary for the office of a commanding officer - and bore the same military simpleness as probably all other rooms of this huge battleship did. Thorough the entire universe, a battleship was always more like a garrison than a home. And the whole build of the _Galactica_ revealed that it wasn’t originally built to have civilians on board.

In the middle of the room stood a light-coloured table, surrounded by some armchairs; on the table there was a computer-terminal of unknown design and the small statue of a bird, made of steatite or some similar material; its shaping reminded Uhura of the foundlings from Ancient Egypt.

Aside of the old fleet commander there were four other people present: a slender, dark-haired woman in the blue-and-silver uniform of the bridge officers; a stout, balding, round-faced civilian with the unmistakable scent of antiseptics about him, and two younger men, in cream-coloured uniforms and brown jackets, in the holsters strapped to their thighs heavy laser pistols. One of them had a great likeness to the blue-uniformed young woman while the other was as dark-skinned as Tigh, but obviously a lot younger and of lower rank.

Commander Adama rose from behind his desk to greet his visitors. The others stood as well, to show their respect.

“Welcome to the _Galactica_ , Captain Kirk”, Adama clasped forearms with Kirk the same way as Tigh had done. “I have invited some of my leading officers to this meeting; I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not the least, Commander.”

“If I may,” Adama continued; “my daughter and second bridge officer, Lieutenant Athena; Dr. Salik, Chief of the Life Center; and two of our squadron leaders: Captain Boomer from Red and my son, Captain Apollo from Blue Squadron. The others are currently patrolling.”

Kirk introduced his officers as well, then they sat down around the table, so that Kirk got to Adama’s right and Uhura on his left. Without any further invitation, a fair-skinned young woman came in, wearing an eccentric, cinnamon-coloured gown and a jewelled broche in her light blonde hair. She carried a few bottles of some liquor and silver tankards on a plate. She gave everyone a tankard and put down the crystal bottles in front of the commander; then she, too, sat on the empty chair between Dr. Salik and Dr. McCoy.

“Thank you, Cassiopeia,” Adama nodded, and rising one of the bottles he turned to Kirk. “This is _ambrosia_ , Captain, one of the most desired products of the colonies of old. Unfortunately, it is way beyond the quality that we were used from our home. But even this rather mundane sort has become a rarity in the meantime, since the fruits it was made of are no longer available for us; we can’t use the small resources of the agroships for that. Well, here is to an effective co-working then.”

“Not bad, Jim!” Dr. McCoy stated. “I won’t give a true Kentucky Bourbon for it, but it almost has the electric tingling of Romulan ale.”

“The doctor is an expert when it comes to drinks,” Uhura remarked, “though to my regret I have to emphasize that Romulan ale is absolutely prohibited stuff.”

“Why’s that?” the handsome, dark-skinned Captain Boomer asked.

“Firstly because we have no trade agreements with the Romulans, so all Romulan products automatically are smuggled wares,” Uhura explained. “Secondly, the stuff is so incredibly potent that it lessens the efficiency of most humanoids drastically, both physically and mentally. That way nobody could speak of rally fair chances in a negotiation. Although I must admit that the taste is excellent,” she added with a grin.

“So you _have_ tried it, after all?” Athena laughed. “How did you get it?”

“The good doctor let me have some,” Uhura twinkled. “For medical reasons only, of course.”

All laughed. Colonel Tigh, seated due to protocol to Uhura’s left, took one of the bottles and refilled her goblet. Giving it back to her, their fingers touched for a moment, and Uhura felt a strange tinge, like a slight electric jolt. Those long, dark eyes remained on her face steadily – not intrusively, but with an intensity that she hadn’t been looked at with by any man, ever since she left Africa.

Old memories were awaken in her: the ecstatic days of the first _Soaring_ , the rhythmic thumping of the _oba_ -drums, used on the initiation ceremony, echoing her own heartbeat, the languid sounds of the ceremonial _siva_ -horns, that made one’s blood boil – and the dances, the pulsating of those ecstatic dances, so cosmic and eternal like the very pulsation of the universe, that lasted seven days and seven nights…

She told herself to stop – this was not the right time for memories. They had a lot of work to do, organizing the whole situation of the fugitives; she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. She cast a chastising look at the man next to her who managed to distract her thoughts from her work so thoroughly.

“Do you intend to embarrass me, Colonel?“ she asked, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Tigh frowned – he was even a little bewildered. “What do you mean, _Siress_ Uhura?

“You are staring at me as if you’ve never seen a woman in uniform.”

His gaze slid down to Uhura’s shapely legs, left almost completely bare by the red tunic of Support Services. “ _That_ is supposed to be a _uniform_?”

Uhura shrugged. ”I did not select the design – however, I’m glad that I don’t have to wear the old, ugly unisex uniforms any more. By the way, I don’t understand your problem. Nobody seems to be taken aback by your blonde bimbo running around half-naked.”

“Cassiopeia is a civilian,“ Tigh replied; ”and I am not the least shocked. On the contrary: I’m impressed that in your Fleet female officers were able to remain true women, despite the demands of duty.”

Uhura shrugged again and tasted her drink carefully. Indeed, the ambrosia reminded her a little of the ale of the _Rihannsu_ , even though it was less potent... and, quite frankly, less aromatic, too. Anyway, it served its purpose by distracting her thoughts from Tigh and helping her to concentrate on her work again.

“The war with the Cylons began more than a thousand _yahrens_ ago,” Commander Adama answered a question of Kirk’s that – due to her short conversation with Tigh – Uhura had not heard, "without a warning, without any formal declaration of war. They proceeded like pirates: camouflaged under false symbols they fired upon our merchant ships and destroyed thousands of them, without a warning shot. Their only purpose was to kill and to destroy. An entire fleet of their base ships (we call them Basestars) approached secretly our twelve colonies...”

“In their arrogance, they could not imagine that we would face them in open battle,“ added Captain Boomer. “Well, we _were_ ready... and we spent the next thousand _yahrens_ in never-ceasing war.”

“And yet you were beaten,“ Kirk half asked, half stated, “or else you wouldn't be fleeing right now.”

“A thousand _yahrens_ are a very long time, Captain,“ replied Adama slowly, “even counted the time leaps of interstellar space-faring. We had... forgotten how treacherous the Cylons could be. We became slaves of our own myths instead. We thought nobody could beat us. We thought we had limitless reserves of strength. We were a people that loved freedom above all and had great delight in adventures.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” McCoy said mildly.

“No, there isn’t,“ Adama nodded. “Not as long as the clear view of truth isn’t clouded by it. And yet, as the Cylons offered us a peace treaty, just as suddenly as they had started the war on us, we have forgotten that we must not trust them. We accepted the offer with great hope; we happily expected to finally put an end to ten centuries of unbroken war. Please understand: we had built our whole existence on the basis of peace. Peacefully had we explored thousands of worlds. Peacefully had we built the societies on the Twelve Worlds that became our main colonies... and we hoped to be able to live in peace once again. So grew the joyous expectation in our hearts with every passing day.”

“Those of us whose lives were consumed by the war should have known better,“ Colonel Tigh commented bitterly. ”We should have known that the joy filling our hearts had strategic value. The farther behind we left the facts that made up the very structure of our existence, the more like the politicians we have become: like those men and women whose minds were so clouded by the words of _power_ that they could not see through the lies of the _powerful_ when these offered us peace with a false smile.”

“I keep saying _we_ should have known better,“ Adama added, with the same bitterness, “but that’s just a democratic commonplace. _I should have_ known better. It has always been one of my personal talents to measure an alien intelligence that could not be understood by human logic alone. The Cylons have deceived me once. After that I’ve sworn never to give them another chance.“

“Could you give us a strategic summary of the war?“ Lieutenant Commander Giotto asked. “I don’t need any details, only the general trends, so that we can work out our own tactic, in case we should need it.”

“Certainly,” Adama nodded. “Lieutenant Athena will show you the visual records. It’s not much, but it’ll give you an overall picture of the destruction.“

While the old commander was ordering his thoughts, Athena linked the viewscreen of the conference room with the tactical archives of the _Galactica_ in order to illustrate what was about to be told. That was a report Uhura had to record for Starfleet Command.

“Commander Adama,“ she said, peeling the strap of the tricorder from her shoulder, “would you allow me to record your story for the Federation’s data archives?“ 

“Be my guest, Lieutenant! “ Adama nodded in agreement. “Do you need some time to prepare your recording device?“

“Only a standard minute for fine-tuning sir,“ Uhura replied. “The background waves of your instruments do interfere a little with this device, but that’s easy to filter out.“

“What kind of instrument are you using?“ Athena asked.

“It’s called a tricorder,“ Uhura answered. “It is a sort of mini-computer, capable of recording a great amount of data. Everything I’m recording will be transferred to our library computer, of course, for data correlation and for Starfleet’s Central Archives, processed into easily accessible blocks of information... save those classified as non-public data, of course. “

She tuned the smart little instrument some more, then looked at Adama with a smile. “I’m ready, Commander. You can start any time you like.”

She switched on the tricorder and after some more thinking Adama started telling the sad tale of the destruction of the colonies and of their flight through long years and unknown star systems. It was a story full of suffering and loss. He spoke of the long and bloody war against the Cylons that consumed all strength of the Twelve Colonies, of Lord Baltar’s treason, of the fake peace conference the only goal of which had been to lure the humans into a false sense of safety, of the blind and stupid optimism of the senators and of the merciless slaughter of the unprotected population of Caprica and the other colonies. There were records of the latter event in the _Galactica_ ’s archives, recorded during their pointless effort to reach their homes in time, and Athena showed these records their new allies so that they could see for themselves what kind of enemy there were up against.

Adama told the tale of the flight of their rag-tag fleet from the enemy’s huge flying bases, he told of bitter defeats and short-lived, pointless victories. He mentioned those strange, powerful begins they had met on their way; beings that out of some peculiar sense of morality weren’t able (or willing) to interfere and thus refused to help them.

The four Terrans listened to his slow, thoughtful words, shaken to the core. Only the faint summing of the tricorder broke the deep silence for a long time after he was done.

“Twelve planets!“ Dr. McCoy murmured in utter shock, his blue eyes glowing with anger. “Twelve whole civilizations... all destroyed, without any fathomable reason, just for destruction’s sake! Just to satisfy their own warped sense of order...“

“And countless little, lonely colonies strewn widely in the surrounding star systems,“ Colonel Tigh added bitterly. “Things have calmed down a little since we’d crossed the Great Void, but as long as this rift in the space-time continuum exists, we can’t feel safe. And neither can you.“

His deep voice had a strange effect on Uhura’s nerves: whenever he spoke, she felt a slight shiver running down her spine, as if the approach of _Soaring_ had touched her. Could it be that they were in another _Great Year_ as her people back on Earth counted time? Could she have got so estranged from her own roots that she’d forgotten which era in the _Temple of Munguroo_ was counted?

“Well, the time of fleeing should be over now,“ Kirk was saying. “There are enough star systems with uninhabited class M planets within the borders of the Federation, and since you are obviously human, the Federation Council would most likely offer you one of those. Or even more than just one. We have too many systems inside our own territory that we haven’t been able to colonize yet.“

“Does it mean that we’re going to be integrated?“ Colonel Tigh asked, apparently disliking the idea a great deal.

“The Federation gives all its members the free choice of customs and forms of government,“ Kirk replied, “although societies that favour slavery or a caste system are excluded, of course. The Federation Council is basically a coordination tool; all members delegate an ambassador who works in the interest of both their own world and the entire Federation. We’ll provide you with a copy of the Federation Charta for further studies, if you want.“

“I most certainly do,“ Tigh said with emphasis. “And so will _Sire_ Solon, our chief lawyer, no doubt.”

“What about your Fleet?” Adama asked. “Who is in charge of it? Who has supreme command?“

“All Federation members are entitled to send cadets to Starfleet Academy,“ Kirk answered. “The same opportunity is offered to allied worlds that aren’t members of the Federation. However, not all of them use these opportunities in the same extent. The Fleet itself is commanded by a number of admirals, each of whom is responsible for a different department, like Tactical, Sciences and so on. Supreme command lies by the Fleet Commander - at this time Admiral Heihachiro Nogura - who answers directly to the Federation Council.“

“And what do you intend to do in case the Cylons manage to follow us through the singularity?” Captain Apollo asked, joining the conversation for the first time.

“We have already informed Starfleet Command and asked for reinforcements,“ Kirk replied. “Two heavy cruisers and a _Dreadnought_ -class destroyer are already on their way, and more will be sent here as soon as possible. I assume Starfleet wants to keep this sector under constant surveillance for the time being. The rift can open again, and we’re not so eager to have an uninvited visit from unknown conquerors. We have enough problems with the Romulans and Klingons as it is.”

The old commander sighed. “It seems we have a lot to learn about your world.”

”This is now your world as well,” Kirk replied, ”and we have to learn about you just as much. Speaking of which, we could make good use of our time until Ambassador Sarek and other diplomatic personnel arrive.”

”Meaning?”

”I suggest an exchange of information. My first officer and chief engineer will come aboard the _Galactica_ and check your data storage capacity. Then we’ll transfer the minimum of crucial Federation knowledge into your database, assumed they can handle it, to make it easier for you to adapt. After that, your executive officer can come aboard the _Enterprise_ ,” at that, Kirk shot a glance at the silently watching Colonel Tigh,” to make himself familiar with Federation technology, and we’ll repeat the whole process in the other direction: your data into our databases.”

Adama gave his aide a questioning look. “What do you think, Tigh? Would you like that?”

“Sure, Commander,” Tigh nodded. ”You know it yourself: I’ve been restricted to this ship for over twenty _yahrens_ – a little distraction would do wonders for me.“

”All right then, Colonel” the old commander agreed, ”You are hereby officially assigned to this mission; you’ve deserved it. Take Cassiopeia with you for communication and Boomer as an expert for technology when our guests are done here. And look into that they are given proper quarters.”

”We don’t want to become an inconvenience,” Kirk said. ”Our people can beam back to the _Enterprise_ after each shift in mere seconds.”

”I don’t doubt it,” Adama said with a smile, ”but we’d like to show our hospitality. Do us the favour and accept it – we haven’t had many opportunities for that in the last _yahrens_.”

Kirk laughed and shrugged. “As you wish, Commander.“

”Captain,” Uhura said quietly, ”permission to stay here as well. Mr. Spock could use my limited knowledge of Sanskrit. Besides, I’m familiar with the newest archiving methods. It could come handy.”

”You are needed on the bridge, Lieutenant!”

”Unlikely, sir. Lieutenant Palmer can handle the standard procedure with Starfleet Command just as well as I; she deserves her chance. As for me... I could finally do true, independent research here. Such an opportunity is offered only once in a lifetime for a communications expert. Captain, please...”

Kirk raised both hands in a defensive gesture. ”All right, all right, Uhura, I understand that this would be your big chance to make yourself a name in your area of expertise. But we shouldn’t stretch Commander Adama’s hospitality beyond the borders of politeness. You have to understand that.”

”I understand that very well, sir, ”Uhura replied dryly, swinging the strap of the tricorder back onto her shoulder. ”But _you_ should understand as well that I’m a little more than just a glorified telephone operator. A great deal more, to be accurate.”

”Captain Kirk,” Colonel Tigh intervened calmly, ”if this is the only reason why you deny _Siress_ Uhura the chance to stay aboard the _Galactica_ , I’d be happy to offer her my personal guest right.”

”I’d like to know what’s that supposed to mean, ” Kirk said.

”All flag officers are entitled to have personal guests on board their ships,” Commander Adama explained, ”at least to a certain extent. As Colonel Tigh hasn’t used this privilege of his during our entire flight, it is his right to provide _Siress_ Uhura a stay of at least two of your standard months in the guest quarters.”

”My motivation is not entirely selfless,” Tigh added seriously. ”Archiving is one of my responsibilities here, and to be honest, I find it incredibly boring. I hope to make it a lot simpler if I can learn your methods.”

”All right then, ” Kirk gave in, albeit a little unwillingly, ”have everything you might need beamed over, Lieutenant. You are hereby assigned to do research aboard the _Galactica_. You can include Lieutenant Palamas from the A &A section if necessary.”

”Aye, sir... and thank you. You too, Colonel.”

”No need for that, _Siress_ Uhura,” that soft light appeared in Tigh’s large eyes for a moment again; then it disappeared. ”As I said, my motivation is rather… egoistic.”

“Captain Kirk, ” Dr. Salik said, ”does your exchange of information include medical data?”

”Sure. Why do you ask?”

”Well, I’d be more than interested in your medical procedures. Would it be possible for your chief medical officer to remain here for a while as well or is he needed in your infirmary at the moment?”

Kirk shot his friend a questioning look. “Your decision, Bones.”

”Right now we have practically nothing to do,” McCoy replied merrily. ”M'Benga is a capable physician, and should he not manage sickbay without me, which I very much doubt, you can beam me back anytime. Maybe it _is_ better if I stay, Jim... if only in case that our pointy-eared friend gets the colic from the local food. You can never know with that weird metabolism of his.”

”He means Mr Spock,” Uhura added helpfully.

”This first officer of yours...” Adama said warily, ”He isn’t human... is he?”

”Mr Spock is Vulcan,” Kirk explained. ”A member of a humanoid species, living in the Y Eridani-system, which is twelve light years from Earth.”

” _And_ unbeatable at getting on your nerves! ” the doctor added with emphasis.

”Vulcans are an honourable species,” Kirk continued with a frown, ”even though some of their customs seem strange to us humans. They are in many things our superiors: physical strength, intellectual abilities and a lot more. The greatest difference is that several thousand years ago they decided to abandon emotions, which they find rather harmful, and let their lives be led by rational logic alone. The only emotion they tolerate is scientific curiosity, which is the reason why they are such excellent researches and explorers.”

”There is one more thing you must remember,” Uhura added. ”You shouldn’t touch a Vulcan, unless it’s absolutely inevitable. Direct physical contact triggers their telepathic abilities, and they find the confrontation with the undisciplined thoughts of other species particularly unpleasant.”

”You mean they could read our minds?” Captain Apollo asked warily.

Uhura nodded. “Yes, but only if they touch you. And even in that case they would try their best to avoid your thoughts. It’s tiresome for them to deal with the thoughts of others.”

“Why?”

”Well, mostly because these usually are a lot more imprecise, illogical and trivial than their own,” Uhura laughed. ”Vulcans are not the least interested in spying around in other people’s minds. They are content among themselves.”

Captain Apollo didn’t seem like someone whose doubts had been put to rest, but his father interrupted the fruitless discussion.

”Very well; it seems that we’ve reached an agreement. Captain Kirk, I assume you want to give the necessary orders...”

”Of course, Commander. Can I establish contact with my bridge from here?”

Adama gave his daughter a cursory glance. Athena tuned something on a rather primitive-looking console and called the other ship through her head microphone.

“ _Galactica_ to _Enterprise_. _Enterprise_ , come, please!”

After some static, the blonde head of Lieutenant Palmer appeared on the small screen. “Bridge here. How may we help you, _Galactica_?”

Athena looked at Kirk. “You can speak now, Captain Kirk!”

Kirk leaned over the table. “Here’s the Captain speaking. Give me Mr Spock, Lieutenant!”

The image trembled a little. The blonde bun of Lieutenant Palmer vanished, giving room to Mr. Spock’s angular face, spotlessly groomed black hair and long, pointy ears.

“Spock here,“ his deep, grave voice filtered through the distortions of unfamiliar technology. “Are you having a problem, Captain?”

“Not exactly, Mr Spock. However, I believe you will have the chance to prove your diplomatic skills in the not too far future.”

”Does the captain prefer to… joke?” the Vulcan asked with a stiffness uncommon even for him.

”I wouldn’t _dare_ to do so, Mr Spock. It’s about scientific cooperation, and for that you are the best person aboard, I believe.”

”You are probably right, sir,” Spock answered calmly. ”Nevertheless, I would appreciate if you could tell me some details about what is expected from me.”

”We’ve agreed to have an exchange of information, Mr Spock. You, Mr Scott, the doctor and Lieutenant Uhura will come aboard the _Galactica_ , in order to fill the database here with the most necessary pieces of information. After that, Colonel Tigh and his people will do the same aboard the _Enterprise_.”

”A most logical effort to use the time until the arrival of the diplomatic corps,” Spock agreed. ”Very well, Captain. Since I’m having the bridge right now, I find it necessary to await your return. However, approximately 12,4.3 standard minutes after your arrival I’ll be able to beam over. Spock out.”

The face of the Vulcan vanished from the screen and Kirk rose from his seat. ”Well, if we want Mr Spock to arrive here any time soon, I have to leave now. I hope to be able to welcome you aboard the _Enterprise_ in a later occasion, Commander.”

”I’d like that,” Adama replied and, according the customs of his people, clasped Kirk’s forearm. Kirk returned the gesture, and then he stepped back and switched his communicator open.

”Kirk to _Enterprise_. Beam me aboard, Mr. Kyle! Energize!“

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Less than fifteen minutes later the transporter beam summed again. Three golden columns of energy took shape in Adama’s office; the dancing particles whirled around, thickened and put themselves together to the solid forms of Commander Spock, Chief Engineer Scott and Christine Chapel, head nurse of the _Enterprise_.

”The captain ordered me to pack your stuff, Uhura,” Chris Chapel handled a large but surprisingly light metal suitcase to the communications officer. ”I hope everything’s there what you might need... including civilian clothes,” she added with a sly wink.

Uhura laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Chris, you are a jewel!”

”You should repeat that within the earshot of my boss more often,” Chapel grinned, handing McCoy a freshly filled medkit with a grand gesture. ”Your weapons, Doctor.”

”Uhura should stop directing the general attention towards your unique abilities,” the doctor grumbled. ”These people might try to lure you away from me.”

”Sorry, no chance,” Chapel shook her head with mock regret, ”I have to leave again, in order to loan Dr M'Benga the necessary respect through my presence. Young doctors need the support of an experienced head nurse.”

Still laughing, she tapped on the ‘Return’ taste of her communicator and disintegrated into glimmering energy.

”First Officer Spock,” Adama turned to the Vulcan, ”welcome aboard. How are Starfleet officers in your position properly addressed?”

”I own the military rank of a Starfleet commander, but I am rarely addressed by my rank,” the Vulcan explained, ”only in occasions of outstanding formality. People usually address me as Mr Spock, which is satisfactory.”

”You are a commander by rank and still only second in command?” Colonel Tigh asked in surprise.

”Starfleet hierarchy follows the old naval tradition of Earth and the chain of command reaches from an ensign to a rear admiral,” Spock answered patiently. ”Therefore a full commander stands one grade under a captain.”

”I see,” Adama nodded. ”Well, Mr Spock, Captain Apollo will escort you to our chief scientist, Dr Wilker; accidentally, he’s aboard the _Galactica_ right now. Chief Engineer Scott, I’ll assign Captain Boomer to you; of all our younger officers he’s the one who knows the most about our technology. Dr McCoy, we’ll give you temporary quarters next to our Life Center; Dr Salik and Dr Paye are eager to compare their experiences with yours. Lieutenant Commander Giotto, you’ll stay with me, so that we can discuss matters considering tactic. And Colonel Tigh will take care of his personal guest, _Siress_ Uhura, I presume.”

”It will be my greatest pleasure, Commander,” Tigh replied; then he rose. ”If I may, _Siress_ Uhura... I’ll show you to your quarters.”

”My pleasure, Colonel,” Uhura stood, too, and followed her host across the huge bridge, out into the so far unknown parts of the great warship.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The corridors they went along were long, grey and listless. The unpainted metal walls echoed their every step, and this monotone sound strangely increased the impression of hopelessness the ship was radiating anyway. It seemed to Uhura that it took them hours until they reached the wing where the quarters of the staff officers were placed. The colonel’s “suite” was at the end of a corridor, containing a tiny computer room, two even smaller bedrooms and a so-called hygienic unit. The latter had two independent, column-shaped shower cabins, a small sink and a toilet. Nothing else, not even a mirror. Uhura wondered how Tigh managed to save under these circumstances.

”I’m afraid I can’t offer you much luxury,” the colonel made a vague, sweeping gesture, his tone apologetic. ”We’ll have to share the computer room; fortunately, there are several terminals, and I spend most of my time on the bridge anyway, whether I’m on duty or not. At least as long as we’re still not safe from the Cylons, that is... and I doubt that we ever will.”

He opened for Uhura the apparently long unused bedroom, the entire furniture of which were a narrow bed and an unpainted metal cupboard. Then he pointed out the door seal to her.

”You can seal your door with this panel; choose any code you wish, the mechanism will accept it. I won’t take it as an insult. After all, you don’t even know me.”

“Not yet,“ Uhura corrected.

”Well, I certainly hope we’ll find the time to change that,” Tigh fished a code card from his belt and handed it to her. ”This card will give you access to my computer, so that you can use it independently. The database doesn’t contain any restricted military information, so feel free to download anything that catches your interest.”

”I thought we were supposed to work together,“ Uhura said with well-played innocence. Tigh took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

”I certainly hope so,“ he answered and kissed her palm, right under the thumb. ”But it wouldn’t be practical if you were dependent on my presence. My duty hours are rather long.” 

The gesture was unusual and not entirely neutral, either; once again, Uhura felt her nerves tremble from the heat of the approaching _Soaring_ and was grateful for her dark complexion that made her unable to blush.

”Tell me something, Colonel,“ she said quietly. ”Why have you supported my application so strongly?”

Tigh gave her a thorough look, without letting go of her hand.

”Well, it has been my impression that this is very important for you,“ he answered slowly. ”I mean, independent research _is_ important for you, isn’t it?”

”Of course,” Uhura nodded. ”Communications experts rarely get the chance to do that. And I’m very good in my area of expertise. Too damn good to let such a chance slip away. You’ve done me a great favour, Colonel.”

”You are mistaken,” Tigh replied calmly. ”Your presence on this ship is important for me. As I said, my motivation was purely egoistic. Which means, you don’t have to feel like you would owe me a debt.”

With these words, he lifted her hand to his lips again and kissed her palm.

”If you say so,” Uhura firmly kept her friendly but not overly personal tone. ”May I have my hand back now? I’d like to unpack my suitcase first.”

”Oh... naturally. Please, forgive me,” Tigh let go of her hand, albeit reluctantly. ”My behaviour was unacceptable. It won’t happen again. My only excuse is that I’m no longer used to the company of such charming women. The war had taken us more than just our homes...”

Uhura smiled, and giving in to a sudden urge, she bent over to him and kissed the hopelessly downturned bow of his mouth.

“Have faith, Colonel! You are heading straight back to civilization again. Have you come over the culture shock, you’ll see that on many worlds of the Federation there are women who are a lot more charming than I am.”

“I dare to doubt that,” for the first time, on Tigh’s face appeared something akin a smile, “but let us discuss this later, shall we? I have to return to the bridge now. May I escort you to the Officer’s Club when I go off-duty?“

“Commander Adama said that you should take care of me,“ Uhura replied, smiling. “And since I find your company pleasant, I appreciate his orders.“

“So do I,” Tigh replied, kissing her hand one more time – then he turned to leave.

However, he turned back from the threshold, a little embarrassed, as if he didn’t know how to say what he had on his heart.

”There is one more thing... Please, don’t be scared, should you hear someone scream in the middle of the night.”

Uhura’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I suffer from irregularly returning nightmares,“ the colonel shrugged. “Probably a reminder of all the horrors I have seen as a Viper pilot. The doctors have examined me repeatedly but found nothing physically wrong with my nerves... although nothing that could help me, either. Sometimes I awake screaming in the middle of the night. It doesn’t happen frequently… at least not _too_ frequently any more. But the walls aren’t soundproof, and I don’t want to scare you, now that you decided to accept my invitation.”

With that, he bowed slightly and left, leaving a bewildered Uhura behind.


	5. New Acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole religious stuff is my doing, of course. Although the Swahili word _uhuru_ means _freedom_ indeed. But the cults are my invention, based on theories about matriarchal cultures.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 4: New Acquaintances**

Uhura spent the next few days partly with orientation, partly with getting used to the workings of the local computers and the quirks of the Unicom – the communication system of the colonial fleet. Working aboard the _Galactica_ proved more difficult in certain areas than they would have thought. Artificial gravitation was some ten percent higher than the Federation standard used on all Starfleet ships, while the average temperature at least eight degrees Celsius lower. Uhura assumed the reason for that was the need to save energy, but that didn’t mean that she would feel less cold, and she could imagine how much Spock had to suffer, although the Vulcan, naturally, never voiced a complaint over the inconveniences. At least the higher gravity was less of a burden for him than for his human shipmates.

Besides, two days ago both he and Mr. Scott were transferred to the _Celestra_ , the fleet’s so-called science ship, where – according to Scotty’s enthusiastic reports – they felt like two kids in a candy shop. After the first day Scott asked for permission to bring half a dozen of his engineers and technicians over to the _Celestra_ , where they started happily helping the local folks with the long overdue repairs.

Lieutenant Commander Giotto was working on battle plans all day with Adama, Tigh and Captain Apollo. Spock’s calculations let assume that the singularity won’t collapse before the Cylons reached it, so they had to be prepared for all possibilities. Lieutenant Palmer had informed the landing party that reinforcements will arrive in another two standard days, and Adama intended to present several strategic plans by then.

After spending a few hours in the Life Center, Dr McCoy asked for additional personnel, too, in the person of medical technician Cindy Lou Johnson, the first assistant of Dr M’Benga in the exobiology lab. He also asked Uhura to establish a constant link between the two medical sections, so that he could transfer the data about all the so far unknown viral and bacterial agents Dr Salik and his colleagues had met on their way directly into the med-computers of the _Enterprise_. At the same time, they started mass inoculations on both the _Enterprise_ and the colonial ships, so that all those harmless viruses and bacteria one party had developed an immunity for hundreds of years won’t cause deadly epidemics by the other party.

Uhura’s primary assignment was the recording of the whole cooperative process, so she had to be very inventive to find the time for her own research. To her greatest regret, she had to leave the whole historical and cultural database to Lieutenant Carolyn Palamas, the leader of the A&A section, without as much as a look into it; time was too short to get involved with them. All she could do was to study the different idioms spoken on the individual colonies; and even that only courtesy of Lieutenant Brent, one of his Andorian subordinates, who offered to take over a good part of recording from her. 

For four days she’d barely left the computer room she was offered to use; she only got over to the O Club for something to eat because Colonel Tigh came and dragged her over with the usual calm authority. That wasn’t such a nuisance, though; the colonel was a pleasant company and kept his promise to avoid all overly personal contacts. Truth be told, after twelve to sixteen working hours a day, a break was more than welcome.

Having sent the summary of the day’s work – including her own report – to the _Enterprise_ , she saved the data and decided to call it a day. She couldn’t hope to finish at least a cursory overview of that ungodly amount of information in the near future anyway; she hoped to ask for an extended leave after this five-year-mission, the end of which was mere weeks away, and to finally start writing her thesis. She couldn’t hope to find any better topic – not to mention one that hadn’t been discussed to death at least a dozen times before. Besides, the ship was due to spend a long time in the drydock at the end of their mission. If she asked permission to do scientific research during the repairs, she could avoid getting assigned to a different ship. It wasn’t necessarily Kirk’s person that made her want to stay – more the good working atmosphere created among long-time colleagues (actually more personal friends by now), who, of that she was certain, were going to use similar methods to avoid a transfer.

With the help of her tricorder, she found out on the first day that Tigh’s terminals were directly linked to the ship’s main database – as it could be accepted in case of the commander’s aide – and she figured out rather quickly how to upload data from those databases. Among other things she found out such practical details as how long the duty shift of his host lasted, and after translating it into standard, she assumed that she would still have enough time to take a shower and change before the colonel arrived to take her to dinner.

However, either her calculations had been wrong, or she had struggled with the strange shower controls longer than expected, the result was that she was just leaving the shower tube when Tigh returned. The dull surface of the cylindrical chamber mirrored the wet glimmer of her naked arms and shoulders above the white towel into which she was wrapped.

“Oh!“ she said, a little surprised. “I haven’t counted on you so early. If you’ll be willing to wait just a minute... I’m almost done. “

“No need to hurry, _Siress_ Uhura,“ Tigh went to one of the unpainted steel cupboards and took another towel out of it. “I’ll have to hit the turbowash myself first. After sixteen _centars_ on duty it is inevitable. But I won’t need more than ten of your standard minutes.“

“Take it easy,“ Uhura laughed. “I’m not starving yet.“

“But I am, very nearly,“ Tigh replied, and with a parting look at her bare shoulder he vanished into the shower stall.

Tigh’s open interest – aside from the generally low room temperature all aboard the _Galactica_ – inspired Uhura to wear civilian clothes whenever they happened to have dinner together. Civvies were simply less revealing and thus warmer than the standard Starfleet uniform. Tonight she chose a long-sleeved, scarlet wool dress that reached till her ankles and above it she wore a flower-patterned orange and white gauze robe, complete with ankle-high, soft leather shoes. She put up her hair with practiced ease, clicked into place her golden spiral earrings and laid on the necklace of gold and ebony that symbolized her status inside her tribe – if one knew enough to understand its significance.

One more critical look into the mirror to check out her appearance, and she swung into the computer room... and very nearly collided with his host who was about to leave the shower unit.

Tigh did not show any embarrassment. He simply pulled closer the towel draped around his waist. Truth be told, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He was short but nicely built, his muscles well-defined, his smooth, dark skin shone like polished mahogany, and he moved in the smooth manner of a hunting cat.

“Just a moment, _Siress_ ,“ he said, completely unperturbed, “and I’m all yours.“

He sounded innocent enough to assume that he was not aware of the double meaning of his words... or he was a very good actor. Uhura assumed the first. She had already found out that playing games was not one of the colonel’s strengths.

“Wait a minute,“ she stopped him with a gesture of her hand, “I want to enjoy this moment thoroughly. Very few men are capable of looking elegant, wrapped only in a towel.”

He gave the man a critical look-over. Tigh took it without the smallest sign if discomfort.

“Well, you _are_ a little short,“ she stated pragmatically, “but you still look great for a staff őfficer who spends his entire life on a few square meters of rusty metal. I’ll have to give you _that_.“

“Unlikely as it might sound, I _used_ to be a cocky young pilot once,” a quick smile showed even, white teeth between those full lips. “Besides, I believe the matching expression would be in Federations Standard: ‘good things come in small packages’.”

He vanished into his bedroom, and Uhura needed a moment to realize that the typical Terran expression hadn’t come through her intradermal translator chip but directly from Tigh’s mouth. In Standard.

“When did you have the time to learn Standard?” she asked in surprise when Tigh appeared again, in a fresh uniform and wearing a short, circular cloak that was held together by a decorative silver chain.

“I didn’t,” Tigh bowed in a ceremonial manner and offered her his arm. “But people often make remarks about my height… or the lack thereof. So I’ve asked your translator for a matching expression. May we go now?”

“Certainly,” Uhura accepted the proffered arm friendly, but keeping her distance, as she would do towards any pleasant but not very close companion, and Tigh seemed to understand the wordless message. “If you’d show the way, Colonel.”

“There’s no need for formalities, _Siress_ Uhura. You are my guest; and you know my name already.”

“Still, I find it proper to address you by your rank, as long as we are aboard the _Galactica_ , where you have to protect your authority,” Uhura replied. “By the way, do you all have only one name?”

“As far as I know, the custom had been established on all Colonies from the beginning,” Tigh answered thoughtfully, “although the reason is not known to me. And since most of our ancient scrolls have been destroyed with our worlds, there is hardly a chance to check it now.”

“Maybe personal aspects had an important role in the name-giving,” Uhura speculated, warming up to professional details. “Do your names have individual meanings?”

“Some of them,” the colonel nodded, “although even those have been in use for hundreds of _yahrens_. _My_ name, for example, means _flame_ in the old Libran dialect. To be more accurate, the dark heart of a flame, where the burning comes to a halt and all is quiet.”

“The name suits you,” Uhura said. “It matches the controlled inner fire, the collected strength I can feel in you.”

“Yes, I think so,” Tigh shrugged, without any false modesty. “Of course, it’s only my _outer_ name. The one I use publicly. _Dream-names_ are much more personal in nature,” he paused, then added, a little embarrassed. “Please forgive me, but I’m not allowed to discuss this. It’s a religious taboo.”

“I understand,” Uhura assured him. “We have got a similar custom in my tribe.”

“Does _your_ name have a meaning?” Tigh inquired.

Uhura nodded. “A rather important one. It reveals to those who understand our customs both the clan I belong to and my status in the cult.”

“Would you be willing to tell me more?”

“Sure, why not? Well, my clan-name is Nyota, which means roughly _she from the stars_. Most people mistake it for a given name, but it’s not one. Uhura is my personal name, and it comes from the Swahili word _uhuru_ , which means _freedom_. It’s a cult-name, always worn by the eldest daughter of the clan, as it comes with a certain… religious authority.”

Tigh remained silent until they reached the end of the corridor.

“Well,” he then said, “I’ve certainly not expected to host a priestess. I’m impressed. And my mother would be very happy now – she came from the priest caste.”

“Such classifications aren’t used among us,” Uhura replied, wondering, why would all outsiders (the few ones she had ever chosen to tell about her people) always ask the same questions. “I am the eldest daughter of an Old Family, and our assignment is to protect the customs and traditions. My so-called ‘power’ is limited to perform certain ceremonies, assumed I _am_ on Earth at the time at all… which, unfortunately, hasn’t happened during the recent decade. Theoretically, my voice would be of ultimate importance in tribal affairs. But since I chose to go to the stars, my younger sister Kamala has to act as my substitute in all these things.”

They reached the O Club. A few young men, wearing the beige-brown uniform of fighter pilots, politely stepped aside to let them enter, and Tigh guided his guest to one of the empty tables on the farther side.

“This table is reserved for staff officers,” he explained, “and for visiting prominence from other ships, of course, in case we have any.”

“Is that such a rare occasion?” Mr Scott, just returning from the _Celestra_ in Captain Boomer’s company, inquired.

“Rare enough,” Boomer replied. “The civilian government prefers ships with a lot more luxury that we could ever offer, and other civilians are not allowed to visit a _Battlestar_ -class warship. May we join you, _Siress_ Uhura?”

“Of course," Uhura nodded, although she could clearly feel the resistance from Tigh’s side; obviously, the colonel would have preferred to be alone with her. Theoretically, Uhura would have liked that, too – Tigh was a fascinating man – but on the other hand she didn’t want to give any fuel to gossip. At least not _yet_. Not as long as she hadn’t decided whether her interest for the colonel exceeded natural curiosity.

Captain Boomer took her offer eagerly and sat down on the empty chair on Uhura’s other side. Strangely enough, that caused jealous looks coming from the other pilots, who were sitting by the nearby tables. The seemingly all very young men made no secret of the fact that they would just love to change places with their commanding officers, and the manner with which they gazed at the unknown woman reminded Uhura of lovesick puppies.

“I find this a little strange,” she turned to Boomer, as she didn’t want to bother her host with _all_ awkward questions. “One would think that your people _are_ accustomed to working with women. I had the impression that half of your bridge officers are female, aren’t they? And yet those pilots are staring at me like adolescent boys in the full blow of puberty.”

Boomer, catching himself by the same reaction, lowered his gaze in utter embarrassment. Fortunately, Tigh had mercy with him and came to his aid.

“You forget an important aspect, _Siress_ Uhura,” he said. “Sure, we do have female officers aboard, but most of them are barely more than young girls whom this long war took the chance to become _women_. Many of our young men have rarely the chance to meet a mature woman; most civilians died on the Colonies. On most ships, save the Senior Ship, we have nothing but children on board. Children who had to age much too quickly. Small wonder that they got off-balance due to your beauty and inner strength.”

“In that case you must prepare yourselves for a great deal of psychological problems,” said a precisely articulated voice behind the colonel. “If your young men lose control in the mere presence of a Terran woman, what will happen when they have to face Deltans later? Or Argelians?”

“Good evening, Mr Spock,” Uhura said patiently. “I wasn’t aware of the fact that you are back already. Would you honour us with your company?”

“Naturally, Lieutenant,” the Vulcan replied, completely unfazed by the gentle irony in her voice. “Otherwise, it would barely be logical to come here.”

Spock had arrived in the company of a thin, silver-haired man with sparkling eyes and a very mobile face. The patrician-looking newcomer in grey uniform barely reached to the Vulcan’s shoulder, and his whole mannerism gave him away as a scientist. Both Tigh and Boomer stood as a sign of respect seeing him; obviously, scientists were highly valued aboard the _Galactica_.

The Vulcan sat down next to Scott, and the scientist followed suit. Uhura noticed that the stranger carefully avoided touching Spock. They had apparently come to some sort of understanding already.

“Are you satisfied with your accommodations?” Tigh inquired politely. “Aboard the _Enterprise_ you certainly have more comfort; unfortunately, this is all we have to offer.”

“Vulcans prefer a rather ascetic lifestyle, Colonel,“ Spock replied calmly. “Our mental discipline enables us to distance ourselves from eventual physically uncomfortable circumstances to a level that would not influence our intellectual efficiency. Not even by temperatures that we usually find much too low.“

Tigh exchanged an uncertain look with Boomer whose only reply was a barely visible shrug. Dr Wilker suppressed a grin and shook his head; he clearly had had the chance to get used to the Vulcan’s speech patterns during the recent days.

“He means, as long as he finds his work interesting, he doesn’t care for the circumstances, although he is freezing to death,” Uhura translated the Vulcan’s announcement for the locals.

Spock raised an eyebrow, which gave his pale face a slightly depressed – or insulted – look, as usual. _Without_ lowering himself to the level of such trivial reactions, of course.

“ _My_ statement was surely free of such exaggerations, Lieutenant Uhura,“ he said. “Besides, I am certain that I have expressed myself precisely enough for anyone to understand.“

“NO!” Uhura and Scott replied in unison; then, turning to Tigh, the chief engineer of the _Enterprise_ added helpfully. “Vulcans rarely use expressions that could be understood by other species. Don’t be bothered, sir. Given enough time, you get used to it… in about twenty or thirty years.”

Everyone laughed. Only Spock stared at the table without a blink.

“As far as _your_ speech patterns are concerned, Mr Scott,” he said when the overall mirth ebbed a little, “they could benefit from a minimum of efficiency… considering the unnumbered examples of brilliantly illogical announcements you offer your audience.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Remember never to indulge in a discussion with a Vulcan,“ he warned the locals. “You just can’t have the last word with them. That’s a natural law in our corner of the Universe.”

Uhura smiled at the Vulcan fondly. “Mr Spock, you are hopeless.”

“Just precise, Lieutenant,” the strangely shaped, dark Vulcan eyes glittered with an amusement that never showed in the stern features. “Just precise. Could we fulfil the reason of our presence now? I still have much work to do today.”

“Did he just mean that we should eat?” Tigh asked, a little uncertainly, and waved the waiter. Uhura laughed, impressed.

“You are a quick study, Colonel; my compliments. I needed a lot longer to sort through Mr Spock’s speech patterns and to translate them to a language understandable for common peasants. Of course, I’m not a man,” she added, thoughtfully, “and certain female philosophers support the theory that male thinking patterns are generally alike, everywhere in the Universe, even among methane-breathers and amorphous creatures.”

All humans present laughed, but Spock nodded in agreement.

“That’s not as unlikely as you might think,” he stated, after having ordered his dinner. “In any case, my mother always said that there are more profound differences between males and females than between Vulcans and humans. And you must admit that the latter differences are quite… significant.”

“By all respect, Commander,” Boomer said, a little bewildered, “how could your mother say such a thing? Different species have very different character traits. If I only think of the Borellians… and they used to be humans once, just like us!”

“My mother is the ultimate expert in this area,“ Spock replied calmly. “Although she hails from Earth, she has lived for many decades on Vulcan, and as the wife of a high-ranking Federation diplomat, she had the unique chance to study many sentient species in their natural environments.”

“Wait a minute!” Boomer said in surprise. “Do you mean that you are…”

“I am half human, that is correct,” Spock nodded matter-of-factly. “I have to add, however, that human and Vulcan biology is for a spontaneous cross-breeding much to different. It took four Vulcan years for the best gene-technicians of our Science Academy to make my existence possible. After the technology had been developed, the next candidates did not need such a long time, of course.”

Boomer’s eyes widened in shock, his dark face became ash grey. He stared at Spock as if he had seen some monster, taken shape from the horror stories of his childhood – a homunculus, a golem or some other creature of the same sort.

“What ails you?” the Vulcan asked politely. “Do you happen to have xenophobic tendencies?”

“That, too, would be understandable, Mr Spock,” Scott hurried to the young captain’s aid. “You must consider that for these people an alien intelligence usually meant mortal danger.”

“That is not entirely correct,” Dr Wilker intervened. “However, we had to learn to be very careful in our dealings with other species.”

“Xenophobia is a common weakness, shared by practically all intelligent species,“ Uhura added. “Even by a not-so-small percentage of Vulcans.”

“Unfortunately, that is correct,” Spock admitted dryly. “However, we do not give those individuals access to Starfleet.”

“Well, you’ll have to show some more patience towards us, Commander Spock,” Tigh replied, not minder dryly, accepting the silver tray with the menu of the day from the steward. “We don’t have the luxury to reject any volunteers who want to fight to protect the rest of our people. Everyone who can start a Viper is sorely needed, regardless of their personal philosophies.”

“You shouldn’t create a false picture about our so-called superiority, Colonel,” Uhura knew she couldn’t completely filter out the anger of her voice. “We are not _that_ superior, after all. Granted, our technology is of a somewhat higher level than yours, but that doesn’t tell a thing about human qualities – and I’m using the word _human_ in the widest possible meaning here. Mr Spock might hold the philosophy of his choice in higher esteem, but I for my part find that we, mere humans, don’t need to feel ashamed either.

“And _you_ , Colonel, you don’t need to feel inferior, in any way. After all, you _have_ managed to save the remains of your civilization without any outside help, despite incredible dangers you had to face. If the Federation decides to do something against the Cylon threat, that wouldn’t happen out of Samaritan reasons alone but to protect ourselves. We don’t need to pretend that we are doing _you_ any favour.”

She fell silent, surprised a little by her own outburst. Spock watched her wordlessly for a few seconds, poking on the lettuce leaves on his plate.

“It surprises me, Lieutenant, that you are accusing me of arrogance, after all these years,” he finally said. “I thought you would know by now that I follow the IDIC-principle and do not consider other people – even humans – inferior, based on our differences.”

Uhura made conscious efforts to calm down. She had already realized that she had been out of line and had probably insulted Spock who – contrary to common belief – _could_ be insulted. Especially by someone who had known him as long and as well as she had.

“ _I am_ aware of that, sir,” she answered gently. “But for these people, who are about to collect experiences with non-human cultures probably for the very first time, your reaction seemed dangerously close to arrogance.”

“I see,” Spock considered the problem for a few moments, then reached his fork again. “Thank you for the warning, Uhura. I shall consider this aspect for the near future carefully.”

“You are welcome, sir. Please accept my apologies in case I was out of line.”

“Apologies are not necessary,” the Vulcan replied. “A long time ago, we once agreed to behave according to our nature, do you remember?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Well, a rather… emotional reaction is as normal for your own nature as logic and rationality are for mine. Consequently, I think that things are now set straight between the two of us – or am I mistaken?”

“That is hardly possible with you, Mr Spock,” Uhura replied with mild irony and reached for her fork as well.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
After dinner Tigh was ordered back to the bridge, as Adama and Lieutenant Commander Giotto wanted to clear some more details with him. Uhura waited for a while for him, but seeing that he wasn’t likely to return any time soon, she joined Cassiopeia, who was just going off-duty, to ask her questions about the Gemini dialect. This particular dialect (just like the one of the Librans) was so different, that not even the people born and raised on other colonies could understand it, and Uhura would never miss the chance to do some research in his own area of expertise... which was the reason why she wouldn’t go anywhere aboard the _Galactica_ without her tricorder.

Cassiopeia was willing enough to help her, so they spent the next hour discussing the different dialects of the many colonial languages that, surprisingly enough, _did_ have a common root, after all. A former _socialator_ , Cassiopeia was well versed in languages, philosophy, history and sociology, and though she had given up her old profession aboard the _Galactica_ , she enjoyed the chance to put part of her old training to good use.

About an hour later Uhura decided that it would be selfish to keep her from her well-earned rest any longer and returned to Tigh’s quarters to process the newly-won data and transfer them to the library computer of the Enterprise. When she finished, it was nearly midnight, and her eyes burned so badly that she could barely keep them open. So she decided to change and turn in for the rest of the night.

There were, however, parsecs between decision and execution. She had always had problems with sleeping in an alien environment, at least in the first couple of nights, and the _Galactica_ was no exception from under this rule. Beyond that, she found the bunk in Tigh’s guest room extremely uncomfortable – she might have slept better on the rough slab of stone Mr Spock used for meditations. The silver-coloured thermal blanket did its duty well enough, but it had an unpleasant feel to the touch, and it wasn’t thicker than five millimetres. Which, despite the hard facts, made the impression that it couldn’t be warm enough.

After an hour and a half, spent turning back and forth on her bunk – and never catching more than a few minutes of sleep – Uhura gave up the fruitless struggle. She got up, pulled her long robe over her pyjamas, slipped into her soft leather moccasins and sneaked into the study. Since she couldn’t sleep anyway, at least she could spend the time more usefully.

To her surprise, the door to Tigh’s bedroom stood wide open. Maybe he grew unaccustomed to closing it during the long, lonely years of duty, or probably he had never done so in the first place, how could guess. When Uhura got up in the morning – and she was an early riser – her host had gone on duty already, so she had no choice to learn about his routine so far.

Driven by curiosity, she sneaked closer and peered through the open door. It was dark in there, but her eyes were adapted already, and she could see that the room was empty. Apparently, long duty hours were the standard aboard the _Galactica_ – especially for the first officer, even if he was off-duty.

“Can I help you, Siress _Uhura_?”

Tigh’s question came so unexpectedly that Uhura nearly got a heart attack. Turning around, she saw the colonel rising slowly from an armchair in front of the computer, where he apparently had been sitting for who knew how long.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he rephrased the question, and Uhura finally pulled herself together. After having caught red-handed, that certainly cost her some effort.

“I don’t think so, Colonel, but thanks anyway. I had trouble sleeping, so I came out to read something. Then I saw your door open...“

“I never seal it," Tigh shrugged and came slowly closer. “That would it make for my people more complicated to reach me... and as for my private life, I ceased to have one since we have been on the run.”

“Do you even sleep in your uniform?” Uhura teased gently.

Tigh laughed – it sounded a little strained, as if he had forgotten how to do it.

“Of course not. I’ve come from an unexpected second duty shift just a few _microns_ ago and was simply too exhausted to go straight to bed. Actually, I was considering taking a hot shower, but I was afraid I’d wake you.”

“Well, since I’m awake anyway, you should probably do just that,” Uhura suggested.

Tigh nodded. “I intend to. Otherwise I’d lie awake all night in screaming agony due to my damaged back. “

“You have problems with your back?“ Uhura walked behind his back and probed his nape with careful fingers. “Small wonder; you are all tensed up.”

“That’s a long story,“ Tigh tried to relax his shoulders but to little effect. “Shortly before the end of my career as a combat pilot, I’d had an accident and broke my back. Dr. Salik patched me together well enough, but it still hurts like hell after a long shift.“

“You should ask Dr. McCoy to take a look at it, “ Uhura advised. “He’s the best surgeon in the Fleet, and our medical knowledge is a little better developed than yours. “

While speaking, she kept loosening the tense muscles in the colonel’s neck and shoulders. Tigh sighed, barely audible.

“Ah... that feels good. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop...“

“Oh, but I have to,” Uhura laughed, “or you’ll fall asleep in my very hands. Maybe you _should_ take that hot shower now... or do you expect me to scrub your back, too?”

“My wife used to scrub my back every time I was able to go home for a few days,“ Tigh murmured sleepily, “but that was an eternity ago.”

“You are married?“ asked Uhura in surprise. “You’ve never mentioned your wife.”

“She is dead,“ Tigh moved away from her, “and so are my children. Forgive me, but I don’t feel like talking about her. Not yet.“

“Of course, Colonel. I apologize for my curiosity.”

Tigh shrugged. “You couldn’t have known. One day, when I am ready, I might tell you about my former life. But not today.”


	6. Dreams and Legends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerning the _Dreadnought_ class starships: According to the “Star Fleet Technical Manual” by Franz Joseph, where I take most of my ship classifications and names from, Federation-class dreadnoughts were a whole new ships class on their own. These ships were authorized by Starfleet appropriation of Stardate 6066. The “Star Fleet Technical Manual” names twenty such ships, numbered from NCC-2100 to NCC-2120.
> 
> According to the particulars given in the Manual (very detailed ones), these ships were almost twice the size of a _Constitution_ -class heavy cruiser, had three warp nacelles and were generally designed as warships, first and foremost. And while the Manual is a semi-canonical source at best, it’s still a good basis for orientation.
> 
> The RNA language course is an idea from Diane Duane’s “Spock’s World”. The scene in the observations dome of the _Galactica_ follows the one from the episode “The Hand of God”.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 5: Dreams and Legends**

**Two days later**

In the _Galactica_ ’s sickbay, the original name of which could be vaguely translated into Standard as _Life Center_ , Dr McCoy checked Colonel Tigh with his medical tricorder thoroughly. Adama’s aide looked miserable: his normally dark face was ash grey, his cheeks were hollow, his eyes seemed even larger from the rings around them, and he apparently didn’t feel any better than he looked.

The decision that the officers who took part in the information exchange program should be enabled to learn each other’s most common language had been made right at the beginning, during the first meeting between the parties involved. Consequently, Dr McCoy adopted a procedure first developed by Vulcans, which had become rather popular on the main Federation worlds during the recent decade. It was a highly efficient method… with a few unfortunate side effects like sickness, killer headaches and the likes.

“As expected, no unusual reactions,“ the chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_ declared, shutting down his tricorder. “As unpleasant as the side effects of an RNA language course might be, they are over quickly enough.”

“And in exchange, the messenger-RNA provides complete and fully conscious knowledge,“ Uhura, not looking much better than Tigh, added. “One becomes fluent in the language of choice at once _and_ has the ability of using subtle expressions in order to reach greater efficiency. Even word games are contained in the repertoire.”

“What’s even more, there’s no need to fear a complete communications collapse, should the universal translator break down or for some reason lack the necessary programming,” the doctor continued optimistically.

“Yes, well, that doesn’t mind that we could neglect learning altogether,” Uhura remarked, “as the effects of the course would lessen in time."

Tigh glared at them like a wounded predator.

“You mean the whole torture was for nothing?” the bewildered question escaped him. Uhura laughed.

“No, that’s not what I mean. All you’ll need is to keep your knowledge alive. That’s what reading, holovids or conversation are for.”

“Besides, in your case the side effects were relatively mild,“ McCoy added, lacking any compassion. “Most people feel a lot worse after such a course. Just take a look at Captain Boomer or at that poor Miss Rigel!”

“What do you mean could be the reason for that, doctor?” Uhura asked. McCoy shrugged.

“I have no idea. Usually, the RNA-structure only shows this grade of similarity by members of the same tribe of any given race. Colonel Tigh’s ancestors must have somehow been related to those of your tribe, Uhura. Though it beats me how they could have made contact with ancient African peoples from prehistoric times, since there are no records about it from later.”

“The _Visitors_!“ Uhura murmured, in a voice too low for either man to hear.

McCoy pressed the hypo to Tigh’s arm, and it pumped into the Colonel’s circulatory system a mild medication against nausea with a quiet hiss.

“So, Colonel. This will ease the worst symptoms, and in a few hours you will feel a lot better. You’ll be back on your feet soon... by the time of the great reception you’ll have forgotten that you ever felt ill.”

“Well, I certainly hope so,“ Tigh grumbled. “Commander Adama is going to need me when the _Quorum of Twelve_ invades the _Rising Star_.”

“You don’t seem to have a very high opinion about your own government,” McCoy remarked.

“My position doesn’t allow me to give you an honest answer, doctor,” Tigh replied slowly. “I can’t risk being removed from Commander Adama’s side. He needs me in my current position – he needs the support I can give him.”

“Certain things seem to be the same across the whole universe,“ McCoy commented sourly. “I only need to think of our admiralty...”

“Don’t be so mean, Leonard,“ Uhura warned him with mock sternness. “Instead of the admiralty you should think of your medical logs. If I’m not mistaken, you are lagging behind with their updates... as usual.“

“Should that be a gentle hint, you have succeeded, Miss Uhura,” the doctor laughed. “I’m leaving you alone with the Colonel… willingly.”

He jumped to the side, still laughing, to avoid to be hit by the pillow Uhura had thrown at him and slipped through the door quickly. Tigh chuckled quietly and risked sitting up on the bed. It worked better than he had expected.

“The doctor has a sharp tongue, but he understands his job well,“ he said. “I might be able to get up now, I think.”

“Don’t overestimate your strength,” Uhura warned, laying a hand on the bare chest of the man and pushed him back onto his pillow. “This is your very first RNA language course; our genes may be compatible, but there will always remain certain risks. Be a good officer and stay in bed for another three hours. I’ll tell you when you are allowed to get up.”

“But I do feel good,” Tigh took Uhura’s hand and tilted his head on the pillow with an innocent expression that nobody would buy. “I feel wonderful, in fact. So maybe you should share my company if you want to keep me resting.“

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Uhura needed all her discipline to be able to resist that damn cuteness of his; this was neither the right time, nor the right place. “But at least one of us needs to behave like a mature adult. Let me go, Colonel. Otherwise I might become unfriendly.“

“Very well,“ Tigh replied with a slightly exaggerated sigh. “Under the condition that you promise to come with me to the great reception. I want to bask in the radiance of your beauty and watch other men pale with envy.”

Uhura laughed. “Is this what you tell every woman when you want a date with them?“

“Not really,” Tigh shrugged. “You see, the last time I’ve gone out with a woman was before the birth of our fourth child, back on Libra.” He smiled fondly. “My wife was less than a week away from giving birth, and she wanted a romantic evening before ‘retreating into the world of dirty diapers’, as she put it.”

“She sounds like a delightful woman,” Uhura said quietly.

“She was that, and many other things, all of them pleasant,” Tigh agreed. “I’ll never understand how she could put up with bearing the burden alone… raising the children, running the house, keeping the family contacts, all that beside her own work… and waiting for me to get home, once in a _yahren_ , for a few days of _furlong_. Sometimes I think our women were a lot more brave than we were…”

“Where did she work?” Uhura asked.

“Oh, she worked for the regional government; not a spectacular job, but important nevertheless. And she could work from home, most of the time anyway. With me off-planet most of the time, someone had to be home. Our family, even though we weren’t wealthy, had considerable influence on Libra – we were one of the so-called Old Families, descendants of the oligarchy that used to rule the planet in the distant past. In my case it wasn’t even enough to secure me a seat in the Planetary Council, but we still had a lot of local influence, and that meant social duties.”

“Sounds familiar,” Uhura murmured. “Sounds intriguing, in fact. I must learn more about this… later. Right now, I really have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,“ Tigh let go of her hand, albeit reluctantly. “Will you come back later?“

“I don’t know,“ Uhura replied.

 _I doubt I’d risk it_ , she added mentally. Putting her inner balance at risk might not be a good idea. She had too much to do right now. They both had.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
At the same time, aboard the _Yahalon_ , one of the rather battered ships of the colonial fleet, the leaders of the Libran refugees had their meeting. Their Elder, _Sire_ Ikimi, was the second-oldest person in the entire fleet (after Adama). He was the head of one of the eight Libran tribes – although not that of the most numerous one – and he used to play an important role in the planetary government.

Aside of him only the former planetary governor, _Sire_ Ashlan, survived the Cylon invasion from all the tribal leaders. The two of them participated in the supposed peace conference… as observers. Now it wasn’t important any more whose tribe had been the more numerous one. From the entire Libran folk only some nine thousand people managed to survive, _including_ the few dozen combat pilots, technicians and bridge officers serving aboard the _Galactica_.

 _Sire_ Togo, who had represented Libran interests in the _Quorum of Twelve_ for thirteen _yahrens_ (since the retirement of Ashlan) became a broken old man after the destruction of the colonies. During the entire journey, he barely ever spoke in the _Quorum_ , and though he hadn’t mentioned it yet, everyone expected him to retire from political activities sooner or later.

“We have a different situation at our hands right now, and can’t allow Caprica and the other powerful colonies to cheat us of our rights again,“ _Sire_ Ikimi pressed. His fighting spirit had not been tempered by his high age - or by the tragic deaths of his eight children.

“May I remind you _Sire_ Ikimi, that we are not in the position to make demands?“ Togo replied helplessly. “What’s more, I’m not an equal adversary for Lobe or Uri. You know that.”

“Before all else, we need to decide one thing,” _Sire_ Solon, the son of Ashlan and chief accuser of the colonies, injected calmly. “Assuming that we are going to survive the next Cylon attack, do we want to remain in the bond of the Twelve Worlds?”

The three older men stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Solon, however, was determined to make them understand his point.

“Consider this,” he argued, quietly but emphatically. “With the help of the Federation, we could settle on an independent colony... or, temporarily, on Earth itself. The fact that we have so very few survivors is tragic. In this particular case, however, it can also be an advantage. If we didn’t have to waste our resources on trying to keep up with our sister worlds, we’d have the chance to recover and to rebuild our culture a lot faster.”

“I can’t see the advantage in exchanging one kind of dependence for another one,” _Sire_ Togo said. Solon shook his head.

“My point exactly, _Sire_ Togo; don’t you see it? If the Federation settled our people as a unit on a colony to be built, a colony where they don’t have enough settlers themselves, then we would be doing them a favour at least as big as the one they are doing us. That wouldn’t be charity anymore, but a contract of mutual advantage.”

“I can’t see what advantage the Federation would have from nine thousand starving settlers, living in poverty, unable to handle their technology,” his father said dryly. “If we ever reached Earth, they’d have to put most of our people into hospitals first.”

“If we ever had an advantage against our sister worlds, it was that our people were talented, tough and learned quickly,” Solon said. “Had we ever got the chance, we’d have achieved much more than we had. Whatever we might think about Gamesh’s methods,” he cast a quick, apologetic look at _Sire_ Ikimi, “in one thing he was absolutely right. The others would never give us what we need to survive... unless we force them.”

“And how do you intend to do _that_?” _Sire_ Togo inquired bitterly. “I’m hardly in the position to corner the _Quorum_ , and your position as Chief Accuser doesn’t allow you to take sides. Had Gamesh not blown his chance with that unfortunate experiment...”

“That ‘unfortunate experiment’, as you call it, made it possible for the Libran ships to finally get enough food and to improve the inhuman circumstances our people were living under, at least slightly,” _Sire_ Ikimi interjected coolly. “My son has paid the price for that. And ever since his failure, nobody tried to make efforts in order to ensure our people’s survival. Not even you.”

“Insulting each other would lead nowhere,” _Sire_ Ashlan reminded them; then he looked at his son. “I assume you do have an idea how to do this, otherwise you wouldn’t have started this conversation.”

“My ‘idea’ doesn’t contain much else than what I’ve already said,” Solon replied. “But I do think that we still have a card up our sleeves, which... _whom_ we haven’t taken into consideration so far.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Accordingly to Dr McCoy’s estimate, Tigh recovered from the after-effects of the RNS language course quickly enough. In fact, he was able to leave Life Center in the early afternoon hours. He made a quick visit on the bridge to see how well Omega – foreseen to be his successor in the long run – managed without him, then he went to seek out Uhura.

As expected, he found her in his study, deeply submerged in the ancient history files about old Libran legends.

“This is highly interesting,“ she said as some sort of greeting, acknowledging his presence in a distracted manner. “ Have you known that these legends have a certain... similarity to our tradition, concerning the Visitors from the Skies, as we call them?”

“No, I haven’t,“ Tigh replied with a small smile, “but after all that which we have found out already, this is hardly a surprise, is it?”

Uhura nodded. “You are right, of course. Our most ancient legends tell us that somewhen in the very far past, people descended from the stars and mingled with our own folk. They became our tutors and counsellors. They taught us the _Cosmic Song_ that contains the basic secrets of the Universe in symbolic form, and they taught us mental techniques to train our Psi-abilities. That’s why our folk show the highest ESP-factor in the entire Africa; actually, ever since the mythical people of Atlantis, Lemuria and Mu vanished from the Earth, we have the highest average ESP-factor of all human populations. Or, at least, we _used_ to have.”

“But you don’t anymore? What happened?”

“The usual thing, I guess. Many of these abilities got lost in the millennia in-between, or have been misused as witchcraft and sorcery. Our tribe was the only one lucky enough to save the Temple and keep the memory of the Visitors alive. No conqueror has ever found Munguroo. Not the Arabs, nor the white men; it had been hidden in the deepest jungle, and only a few chosen ones knew about its existence. But now that Earth has become so small, we are finally capable of protecting the Temple from intruders. That’s why we can afford leaving Earth now and looking for the Visitors among the stars.“

“Our legends tell us about a thirteenth tribe that left Kobol and began a long journey among the stars,” Tigh said quietly. “It’s said that this tribe was a mixed group – the majority were Librans, although they didn’t bear that name yet back then, but the ancestors of the Leonids and some other tribes went with them as well. They followed the call of very powerful and very strange beings whom they called the Providers. The Providers taught them to build huge generation ships and promised them a blue planet on the other side of the Galaxy... as Kobol was an old world, and everyone knew that it wouldn’t last forever. Then the thirteenth tribe boarded their ships, crossed the stargate and wasn’t heard of anymore. Ever. I think, though, we can assume now that they have reached their destination, after all.”

“Has nobody ever searched for them?” Uhura asked in surprise.

“Only once,” Tigh replied. “When our ancestors left the dying world of Kobol and sought out a new home, a considerable part of the Librans refused to follow the others. They belonged to an esoteric sect, the so-called Sóhar-sect that had followed the teachings of the Providers all the time. These decided, under the leadership of High Priestess Thamar, to follow the lead of the thirteenth tribe and seek out the promised blue planet as well. They built a huge sleeper ship, left the rest of the fleet… and vanished forever. We don’t know if they found what they were looking for… or what has become of them.”

“I never heard about a second wave of Visitors,” Uhura said thoughtfully, “and if anyone, I certainly would have. There still are a handful of families among us who can track back their ancestry to the _Visitors_ who mingled with our people. These _Old Families_ , as we call them, have kept tradition until the current times and are highly respected because of their ancestry. My family is one of these, as you know… the most respected one, if I may say so. Which is the reason why we have been honoured with the guardianship of the Temple of Munguroo. Do you understand what this means, Colonel? We share the same blood... across uncounted millennia.”

Tigh nodded, the realization too profound for him to react at once. The existence and wanderings of the thirteenth tribe belonged to the ancient legends nobody truly believed any longer... save a few orthodox Kobolians like Adama. The mere fact that Earth actually existed was shocking enough for the fugitives, but if they understood that they had really found the traces of the thirteenth tribe, it would shake their whole lives to the foundations.

“Who knows,” he finally said, “maybe one day there will be another merging between our peoples. I...” he hesitated for a moment, then offered anyway, “I’d be glad to be part of it.”

Uhura understood the hint, of course, but – still uncertain about her own feelings, after all they had just met a few days earlier – didn’t answer right away. When the silence between them started to become uncomfortable, she turned, facing him, and laid her hands on his shoulders; they were about the same height.

“I’ll... think about it,“ she said seriously. “All right?”

Tigh nodded, slowly, reverently, and crossing the small distance between them with the same gesture, and kissed her. Uhura did not resist, resting in his arms for a short while, enjoying his closeness and the fleeting moment of peace.

A moment and no more. They weren’t inexperienced youths in the throes of their passion any longer. After that moment, they let go of each other; Tigh turned away, clearing his throat a little embarrassed, while Uhura suppressed a smile.

“Did you have a particular reason to seek me out?” she asked. “At this time you are usually on the bridge.”

“I’m still sentenced to light duty,” Tigh had regained his inner balance already, “and I wanted to use this unexpected free time to ask you if you’d like to accompany me. I’d like to show you something that not many people have seen, even of the crew of the _Galactica_.”

“I’m always open for new experiences,“ Uhura laughed. “Lead on!”

To her surprise, Tigh went to one of the unpainted metal cupboards and take out of it two small items that had a vague similarity to 20th century headphones. He put on one of them himself and handed her the other one.

“You’ll need one of these.”

Uhura turned it back and forth in her hand. “What are they for?”

“To protect your ears,” Tigh explained. “We’ll have to pass along the solium generators, and they are rather loud.”

Shortly thereafter Uhura had to admit that he had been right. The noise of the generators was ear-splitting, despite the protection and the thick metal bulkheads of the engine room. At the end, however, they climbed up a narrow steel ladder, through a round opening that looked like a manhole cover, the trapdoor of which Tigh closed behind them carefully, and the noise ceased at once. They were standing in a small, circular chamber, under a huge metal dome.

Uhura took the ear-protectors off her head and looked around in awe. “Where are we anyway?”

“As high as you can get on the _Galactica_ ,” Tigh replied, clipping his own ear protectors to his belt before stepping up a few steel steps to an ancient-looking console. He had an almost reverent look on his face as he started to activate the controls. “We're directly above the main thrusters. It's a great place to get away from everyone to think. Are you ready?”

“For what?” Uhura asked in surprise.

“For a moment of untainted beauty,” Tigh answered quietly. “Look.”

His long fingers danced across the antiqued console. There was a loud click above them, then the metal hull broke away into four sections, like the petals of some bizarre, gigantic steel flower, moving back until the dome was completely uncovered, and they found themselves right among the stars, as if they would have been standing outside, in the endless, black space. Only the transparent inner walls of the dome separated them from the depths of the cosmos.

Tigh watched for her reaction with great curiosity. To him, it was the ultimate test – a test to decide if this woman who seemed to have captivated his long-dormant heart and senses, was truly a star-walker, one who could truly understand the person he was beneath his hard shell of a warrior. And as she stared in wonder at the starfield outside, Tigh’s heart slowly started filling with joy.

“This is incredible… even a little frightening,” Uhura breathed, looking about her in awe. In her off-duty time she often visited the observations lounge of the _Enterprise_ , at least when the ship was flying in real space, to remind herself again and again why she was out there, among the stars. But that was nothing compared with this majestic view here. 

Tigh gave her a slight smile.

“There is no need to worry, _Siress_ Uhura. We're perfectly safe. The inner walls of the dome are constructed of transparent _tylinium_. This is so different from looking out of a Viper cockpit,” he added reverently, “as if I could touch eternity with my bare hands. Whenever I feel like suffocating in the narrow space of my quarters, I come up here. Do you like the view?”

“It is absolutely wonderful!” Uhura sighed. “I’ve never seen a view quite like this, and believe me, I _have_ been to many incredible places.”

Tigh rose from his seat. “Then come up here and try it. You’ll see, one gains a completely new perspective by contemplating space from this angle.”

He stood on the little ledge behind the seat as he helped Uhura up the ladder to the console. With a few experienced moves, he showed her how to handle the instruments – it was no big deal, given Uhura’s technical skills. The whole equipment was basically a scanner with some controls to adjust the frequency, the switch for the dome, and a few others he still hadn’t had the time to ask Apollo about. One day, when they had the time, he probably would, he decided again.

“What was this dome built for?” Uhura asked, leaning back in the seat to take in the fantastic view displayed through the transparent dome for their eyes only.

“This is a so-called celestial chamber,” Tigh replied, “the only one left aboard the _Galactica_. When the ship was launched over five hundred _yahrens_ ago, there were a number of these domes, Captain Apollo says. Back then, the navigators used to come up here to take star sightings, to sort of double-check the navigation computer. I doubt that many people have been up here in a hundred _yahrens_ or more, though. Except Apollo, of course.”

“But these instruments still seem to work,” Uhura noticed, feeling more than a little respect for the long-dead designers of the Battlestar. Tigh nodded.

“They are working now because Apollo repaired them. Sometimes he comes up here and imagines navigating the ship the old-fashioned way, as our ancestors did. He can be rather… romantic at times. But in that, I can understand him well. Had I a ship like this, I wouldn’t allow the celestial chambers to be taken down, either. There lies a certain challenge in trusting our eyes and our instinct, instead of the instruments.”

“How come that you still don’t have your own command?” Uhura suddenly asked; this was a question that had bothered her ever since they had started to work together. “You have the rank, you have the experience… so what’s going on?”

Tigh didn’t answer immediately. His dark, elegant face hardened, as if remembering some unpleasant experience.

“I’ve been nominated twice for the command post of the _Atlantia_ , he finally said, “the sister ship of the _Galactica_. However, someone else got the post both times.“

“Why?”

“I’m not very... popular by the _Quorum of Twelve, Siress_ Uhura. Aside from Commander Adama, only the Libran councillor, _Sire_ Togo has ever supported my nomination. Unfortunately for me, he has little influence when it comes to military decisions.”

“Have you crossed the _Quorum_ in some ways?“ Uhura asked. Tigh shrugged.

“I have the unfortunate tendency to tell the truth under any circumstances... in a less than diplomatic manner. The _Quorum_ prefers people who always say things the councillors want to hear... even if it would lead the Fleet straight into lethal disaster.”

“Commander Adama seems not that sort of man to me, though,“ Uhura remarked.

“Commander Adama is a member of the _Quorum_ himself,“ Tigh pointed out. “He even used to be the chairman of the _Quorum_ for a short time. Besides, even the councillors know that without him our people wouldn’t have a chance to survive. Not to mention the fact that he had inherited the command over the _Galactica_ from his father... just as one day Apollo will take over the post from him. I, on the other hand, am just a disrespectful Libran officer; I can’t count high-ranking military commanders in the long line of my ancestors. I was an easy target for the _Quorum_ , to punish not only my but Adama’s transgressings as well.”

“But you still keep dreaming of your own command, don’t you?“ Uhura asked, seeing his wistful expression. Tigh nodded.

“Of course I do. We all do. Even if that ship is only a flying water tank with a thruster attached to it. And after I’ve had the _Pegasus_ under my command, even if it was for a single day only, I can’t forget the feeling. What it meant to command something so great and wonderful as a _Battlestar_ -class ship...”

“I can understand what you mean all too well,“ Uhura said seriously. “It’s a rare event that I’m allowed to fill in for Captain Kirk on the bridge, but it happens from time to time... And even though I never intended to go to command school, sitting in the captain’s chair is... oh, I can’t even try to describe the feeling. It was simply overwhelming.“

“Yeah, that is the nature of being in command,” Tigh said with a wry little smile. “But it isn’t granted to anyone. And personal achievements don’t always seem to play a role when people for this privilege are being selected.”

“Does it mean that you have accepted your ‘fate’?” Uhura asked. “To always remain second, despite the fact that you could easily be first? Have you really buried all your ambitions?”

“When it comes to plain survival, there is no room for personal ambitions,” Tigh replied. “Commander Adama needed my help to be able to run the _Galactica_ and to keep the Fleet safe… well, as safe as possible. I was of more use on the bridge of the _Galactica_ than I’d have been in the command chair of any other ship save a second Battlestar. And we don't _have_ a second Battlestar.”

“That was the past,” Uhura said. “But circumstances have changed.”

Tigh shook his head. “Not yet. We still have a Cylon fleet on our trail. We are still not safe.”

“But you will be, soon. Are you going to finally take your life in your own hands?” Uhura pressed.

Unexpectedly, Tigh grinned at her. “To borrow your line from earlier: I’ll think about it.” He pressed a button on the console and the metal skin of the dome closed again. “We should go back. I have certain… preparations to make before the reception.”

“What preparations?” Uhura asked, her curiosity surfacing again. But Tigh just shook his head again.

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it? Let me surprise you.”


	7. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to put everyone’s mind at ease: this is not going to be a Spock/Athena romance! To be perfectly honest, I was thinking of leaving this part out of the English version, as it doesn’t serve any particular goal – other than giving an explanation why would Athena go to the big reception in Spock’s company. But it was part of the original story, so in the end I decided to keep it.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 6 – Interlude**

**On the same afternoon**

People who are informed about the peculiarities of Vulcan physiology also know about the merciless biological determination called the _pon farr_ \- an irrepressible urge that overcomes Vulcans in every seventh year. Which doesn’t mean that Vulcans would be unable to react to the other gender during the time in-between. They can choose to do so, if the motivation is strong enough. Few outsiders know, however, that by very strong simulation, the emergence of an untimely _plak tow_ , a blood fewer, is quite possible.

Mr Spock’s interest for Athena, Commander Adama’s daughter, had nothing to do with the strange workings of Vulcan biology. He did find the slender, dark-haired young woman aesthetically pleasing, in the manner as he would behold an intricate piece of art. Athena’s beauty and elegance reminded him of the women of his own people, and there was something in her behaviour that intrigued him. Behind the emotional surface that could be expected from a human, there was a certain hardness, the Vulcan self-discipline not unlike.

This had made Spock curious, and considering his skills with computers, it was easy for him to go through certain personnel records. His own ethical codex did not allow looking into confidential material, but what he had seen was enough to understand that hardness a little better.

Fate had not been gentle to Adama’s daughter. Athena had lost so much: her home, her mother, her kid brother, her entire world, the future she had dreamed of, the man she had loved. She had to become hard as steel to survive. And yet there was also a strange vulnerability in her, protected by the tall and strong walls she had built for her own defence. Spock realized with surprise the awakening of completely illogical protective instincts that he had, no doubt, inherited from his human ancestors.

This was ridiculous. Athena was a competent officer. She did not need his protection. Not to mention the fact that he would have no chance to protect her from anything or anyone.

And yet the illogical feelings would not go away. Perhaps his father had been right, after all. Perhaps he _had_ spent too much time among humans. Perhaps it was time to return to his true roots.

But first, he had to fulfill his duty to Starfleet, to his ship, to his captain. There was no way to change a new path before the current five-year-mission of the _Enterprise_ came to an end. Assuming that they survived the upcoming confrontation with the mysterious Cylons, of course.

As a Starfleet officer for almost twenty years – not to mention the son of an esteemed Federation diplomat – it was Spock’s duty to find out what the chances were. To be able to do that, he needed to absorb every bit of data the Colonial Fleet had about the Cylons. That meant endless hours at the computers, studying, analysing, cross-checking what he had found with Starfleet databases. He had to finish his work before the war council between Commander Adama and the commanding officers of those Starfleet ships that were already on their way here.

He knew he could do it. He was a Vulcan – he needed less sleep than humans. He could go on with his work for days if necessary. And right now it _was_ necessary.

He clenched his hands a few times above the keyboard of the old-fashioned computer. His fingers were stiff, almost frozen. The climate controls of the _Galactica_ kept the temperature at a level that even average humans would have found uncomfortably low. Spock was freezing, more than he had ever been in his entire life. To expose himself to such unnecessary torment would have been illogical, so – after giving the situation some thought – he turned with his seat to Athena who had been assigned to help him search the Fleet databases.

“Lieutenant Athena, would it be possible to get permission to have some of my personal items beamed over to the _Galactica_?”

“That won’t be a problem,“ she answered, a little surprised. “What do you need that we can’t provide here?”

“Warm clothing,” Spock explained. “The climate aboard this ship is… unpleasant for me. I come from a desert planet where the average temperature is twice as high as here.”

“Sounds like Hades itself,” Athena eyed the Starfleet-uniform critically. “Of course, your shoddy uniform would provide no protection. I can organize you one of ours, if you want. The winter uniforms are double lined, the best quality… and they look a lot better.”

“Aesthetic considerations do not play any role for me at the moment, Lieutenant,“ Spock replied calmly. “Although I would willingly admit that your uniforms display a considerably higher level of elegance. I would gladly borrow one if you have any in store.“

“Sure we do, more than enough. More than people to wear them, to tell the truth. Come with me, I’ll take you to the store rooms at once.”

Athena led him down to the lower decks, where the cargo bays and other similar facilities were housed. Finally, they came to a long storeroom. It had a low ceiling, and its walls were lined with drawers and cupboards. An elderly civilian woman came out of a back room to greet them. Adama’s daughter explained quickly what they needed, and the woman nodded in agreement.

“You seem to be the same size as bridge officer Omega,” she decided, after giving the Vulcan a trained, measuring look. “We have several uniforms in store in this size… but only the brown ones, for pilots.”

“The colour is of no relevance for me,” Spock assured her. “As long as they are warm, I would be satisfied.”

“In that case I’ll give you a winter uniform, I think,” the woman said, searching one of the cupboards already. “Or two of them, right away, so that you’ll have something to change. The changing room is over there. Wait a moment, please.”

Spock walked over obediently, and after a few moments the woman handed him the selected uniforms. The cotton-lined tunic and the thick trousers were pleasant to the touch and warm enough, even for him. The knee-high boots were too wide for his thin legs but could be tightened with the side clasps, and the dark brown jacket, although synthetic, felt like soft leather; it was elegant and practical at the same time.

The Vulcan gazed into the floor-to-ceiling mirror to check his appearance – and was a little surprised. As the thick, unfamiliar clothing covered the sharp contours of his thin body, he looked eerily similar to his father, Sarek, who had a much more robust build.

“By the Lords of Kobol!” Athena cried out in astonishment as he left the changing room. “I can barely recognize you.”

Feeling flattered by the surprised delight in Athena’s voice would have been unworthy a Vulcan – naturally, Spock would never allow the weakness of his human half to surface like that. He was content to be warm for the rest of his stay on the _Galactica_. What other people thought of his fashion sense was irrelevant.

“Not bad,” the woman in charge of the storage rooms agreed and handed him the short, circular cape and the golden necklace that were part of the dress uniform. “You’ll be expected to wear these when joining ceremonial events.”

“We’ll be able to check the effect, soon,” Athena added, after they have left the storage rooms and headed back to the archives of the _Galactica_. “News just have reached us that the _Divine Wind_ , with Ambassador Sarek on board, will arrive within thirty-six of your standard hours. My father plans a big reception for all Federation representatives aboard the _Rising Star_. Speaking of which, I’d like to ask you a favour.”

“What kind of favour?” Spock asked, hiding his surprise. What could Athena need from him, especially in connection with a diplomatic reception?

“As the daughter of the Fleet Commander, I have to make an appearance,” Athena replied, less than enthusiastically. “Unfortunately, I still don’t have anyone to escort me. Would you honour me with taking over this role?”

“Certainly, Lieutenant, if this is of any relevance. The honour would be all mine.”

“It is of great relevance for me, Mr Spock,” Athena looked away, as if she would try to hide her sorrow. “You see, the entire Fleet is aware of the fact that I’ve lost Star… a man who meant a great deal to me, twice. Once to another woman, and a second time forever, when he didn’t return from a mission. Would I appear at the reception alone, people would feel sorry for me. I don’t want anyone’s sorry. I find it… humiliating. I don’t know if you can understand what I mean…”

“Not truly,” Spock admitted in all honesty, “but that, too, is irrelevant. I am willing to help you regain your reputation in the eyes of your people… although I must say that I find this human obsession with appearances a little absurd.”

Athena nodded thoughtfully. “It _is_ absurd, you are right. But that is the way people think, and you and I won’t be able to change it overnight.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s mentioned in the later Trek series that Venus is still undergoing terraforming. I changed that little detail, so that I could invent the _homo iridiensis_. The Mars-Earth problems are my doing, too, and yes, I wrote this waaay before Babylon 5. The name Malacandra for Mars is from C. S. Lewis’ novel, chosen by Mars citizens consciously, to set themselves apart from Earth terminology.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 7 - Diplomatic Relations**

Sarek, Ambassador of Vulcan on Earth, aside from having a seat in the Federation Council, was an impressive sight to behold. He was a tall man, as tall as Spock, his son, but heavier built, with considerably broader shoulders and more muscle. The official garment of his status looked more like the robes of the high priest of some oriental cult from Earth’s past: a long, hooded dark brown robe, thickly embroidered with gold and adorned with multi-coloured jewels. Its heavy, vertical folds made the ambassador look even bigger, more powerful, almost intimidating.

Despite his silver hair and the well-known fact that he was over one hundred years old, he looked almost youthful – maybe due to his chiselled, aristocratic features, maybe due to his dark eyes that seemed to notice everything and always on alert. His wife, a charming human lady clad in a long, pale blue dress and wearing a floating white veil that encircled her face and was thrown back over her shoulder, looked on his side as a lovely, fragile but undoubtedly wilting flower.

If Sarek was surprised to see his son in the dress uniform of the Colonial fleet, he didn’t show it. Just as he found it below his dignity to ask who the beautiful young lady was – wearing a shoulder-free, dark blue evening dress interwoven with silver thread and a diamond headdress in the dark cloud of her long, wavy hair – who accompanied Spock, leaning lightly onto his arm. Amanda, however, didn’t found such Vulcan reserve obligatory for herself, and as soon as Sarek walked away to greet the other guests, she asked her son straight out.

“Would you mind to introduce us to each other, Spock?”

“Certainly, Mother,” Spock touched his palm to his mother’s in Vulcan manner. “This is Lieutenant Athena, communications expert aboard the _Galactica_ and Commander Adama’s daughter. My mother, Doctor Amanda Grayson.”

“I’m honoured, _Siress_ Amanda,“ Athena curtseyed deeply, following old Caprican tradition; as the member of a patrician family, she had been taught very thoroughly how to be a young lady of a good house. “Lieutenant Uhura mentioned that you are a linguist. Should you have some spare time, I’d love to discuss with you the questions concerning our shared area of expertise.”

“Do you intend to start a civilian career?” Amanda asked. 

Athena made an uncertain gesture. “I’m not sure, not yet. Of course, should we get the chance to lead a peaceful life after all those _yahrens_ of war, I could imagine it, actually.”

“Well, the negotiations will undoubtedly take time, which would give us the opportunity to organize a private meeting,” Spock’s mother answered in a friendly manner. “I wanted to ask Lieutenant Uhura’s help concerning various extraterrestrian languages anyway. Maybe we could form a little workshop, the three of us.“

“Mother,“ Spock reminded with a slight frown, “you should not over-extend yourself with work so soon. Dr. Corrigan said...”

“I now what he said,” Amanda dismissed his concerns with a wink. “I should sit on my laurels all day and let the rest of the world spoil me. Could you spend your day like that?”

“Not really,” Spock admitted. His mother shot him an amused look.

“Why do you think that _I would be_ willing to do so, then?”

“That is not the same, Mother,” Spock protested. “I am a Vulcan, and…”

“A _half-Vulcan_ ,” his mother emphasized. “You are just as much _my_ son as you are your father’s. Even if the fact makes you uncomfortable.”

“Please do not be absurd, Mother. It is documented that the Vulcan genome is dominant in my genetic makeup. I find your reaction rather illogical.”

“Small wonder,” Amanda commented dryly. “I’m just a human, after all.”

Spock nodded. “Exactly. Which is the reason why you should admit that – even as a half-Vulcan – I have a much better stamina. Besides, I am considerably younger, which means that I do not have to save my strength.”

“Isn’t it just lovely to hear from my own son that I’m with one leg in the grave already?” Amanda commented sarcastically; then she took Athena’s arm. “Join me, Lieutenant. We can talk before the dancing starts. Let’s hope that in the meantime my son manages to set his Vulcan superiority complex aside and proves to be a more or less acceptable dancing partner.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The captain of the _Rising Star_ raised the average temperature aboard his ship as a courtesy to the visitors, since they didn’t have to save energy anymore. As a result, the ladies could afford to wear their most daring dresses, without freezing to death. And by the Lords of Kobol, did they ever wear them!

Uhura chose the robe she would have worn at home during ceremonies, as it symbolized her status among her people. Actually, it wasn’t really a robe at all, just a long piece of scarlet cloth, interwoven with gold thread, worn like the sari of an Indian woman. It left one shoulder free, while its richly-embroidered end was thrown forward over the other shoulder. The golden bracelets worn on her bare upper arms were shaped like the serpents of wisdom, their ruby eyes glittering as if they were alive. She twisted her hair into a knot on the nape of her neck, decorating the hairdo with tiny golden bells. The large golden spirals in her ears cast trembling spots of light on her neck. On the middle finger of her left hand she wore a ring with a large oval design that half-covered the delicate bones of the hand. This ring – and the gold-and-ebony collier – would have revealed her high social and religious status to anyone who knew the customs of her people.

Of course, there was no one who would have been familiar with the complicated hierarchy of Munguroo’s cult-pyramid. Not even members of other tribes were told about those things, not to mention strangers or even aliens. Spock was the only exception, due to his decades-long friendship with Uhura, but the Vulcan was good at keeping secrets. Still, everyone forgot to breathe when he entered the room, accompanied by Tigh in a dark blue dress uniform.

And that although a great many various forms of feminine beauty were represented at the reception. There were richly-clad Deltans, who still looked incredibly naked due to their bald skulls, and who were able to make dizzy everyone of the opposite gender (or of the same one, for that matter) with the simple release of their pheromones. There were Vulcans, clad with the elegant utility of their race, their chiselled features emphasised by the glittering white jewels in their jet-black hair. There were the slender and lizard-like limber Saurians, seen on Earth in the 20th century already, with their huge, round golden eyes and slanted pupils and metallic shining head scales. There were amphybic sirens from the planet Aqua, covered by pale blue scales from head to webbed toes, who only wore clothes as a courtesy to the sensitivities of other species, the whirling tentacles on their heads looking like wind-blown hair...

This was the first time that the representatives of the Colonial Fleet met such an exotic variety of intelligent humanoid life. Tigh and Boomer were most surprised by the spontaneous mutations that had occurred on the early Terran colonies, though. They stared in utter bewilderment at Tillottama, the representative of the Venus colonies; she was more than six feet tall, her ebony skin covered by silky, silvery scales, and in the middle of her forehead a jewel-like implant pulsated in a reddish light.

The ambassador of _Iride_ endured their scrutiny rather good-naturedly.

“You’re going to have more surprising encounters in the near future,” she said in a surprisingly high-pitched and soft voice. “Just wait until you meet some methane breathers or shapeless creatures. Not to mention the shape-changers, like the Drelb.”

“Or the various feline species,” Uhura added with a smile. “And the three-armed and three-legged Edoans.”

“I heard that the _Enterprise_ actually does have some crewmembers from feline species,” Tillottama remarked. “And how’s Lieutenant Arex doing? I’ve hoped for a chance to hear him play his _sessica_ again.”

“He’s doing well… as always, it seems,” Uhura answered. “And my Caitian aide, M’ress, is on duty right now. The Captain decided to send only humanoids on board the colonial ships first. People will have a hard time to fight their xenophobia as it is.”

“True enough,” the ambassador of Iride nodded. “In their eyes I would barely look as a human being myself. To be accurate, I’m not one, not any longer. The changes has become too profound already; we are of the same genom, but the _homo iridiensis_ has become a species of its own, unlike the peoples of the Mars.”

“A fact we of _Malacandra_ regret very much,” Lieutenant Masters, who represented Engineering, as Scott had to return to the _Enterprise_ , commented dryly. “We’d prefer the differences between us and the Terrans to be more obvious, aside from our endurance of cold temperatures and our non-violent culture.”

“May I ask why?” Tigh was a little bewildered.

But Charlene Masters simply shook her head and gave no answer.

“Earth has not always been fair to her first colonies, Colonel,” Uhura answered in her stead. “This was a debt that tore deep wounds and is hard to repay. Should you have the chance to talk to Ambassador Sarek, you might learn interesting things. Vulcan – and Centaurus, for that matter – used to have much better contacts to the Mars Colonies for a while than Terra.”

“Thankfully, those times are gone now,” Lieutenant Masters laid her hand upon Uhura’s arm in a reconciliatory gesture. “And _your_ people had never any fault in it, _amuntu_.”

“Nevertheless, this is a collective debt of mankind,” Uhura replied seriously, “ and even the people who had not been in any position of power in those times have to carry part of this debt. But we should not discuss such depressing topics during a reception. We are here to have a good time, after all. For everything else, we’ll have enough time later.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Commander Adama’s angular cheekbones looked like the work of a particularly skilled sculptor. High age might have given the rest of his face a slightly grandfatherly look, but the bone structure was still that of a born aristocrat. His dark, penetrating eyes belied the jovial expression of his face; they could be as cold as ice. The warriors under his command feared him as much as they loved him, and the same was true for the civilians aboard every single ship of the Fleet. He was loved and highly respected, but not as other commanders would be. Due to the fact that it had been mostly by his virtue that at least a small percent of their people could escape utter destruction, he had become something like a religious icon. He was not comfortable with that, but didn’t hesitate to use it to his – to the whole Fleet’s – advantage against the _Quorum of Twelve_ if necessary.

Sometimes he had to laugh at the ridiculous superstitions surrounding his person. He knew that some of the people aboard the _Galactica_ whispered that if he got angry, his eyes would retreat into his skull and gave off invisible rays that would force everyone into submission, like some alien demon’s. He sometimes wished it were true. It certainly would have made dealing with the _Quorum_ a lot easier.

Although he was tall and strong, he had none of the clumsiness muscular men sometimes displayed. His gestures were smooth and graceful, and there was an ease in his bearing – despite his slightly bowed stance, another result of his high age – that made even his adversaries comfortable in his company. Assuming, of course, that _he_ was comfortable in _their_ company.

He stood alone, distancing himself from his colleagues in the _Quorum of Twelve_. Their toasts, honouring the new, unusually powerful allies, rang false in his ears. Contemplating the millions of stars visible through the huge window of the _Rising Star_ reminded him (as it should have reminded everyone with the slightest sense of true measure) of his own insignificance in this universe that most likely wasn’t even his own. Measured by the eternity of the universe, even the historic event taking place right now – the possible end of their long odyssey, the possibility to find a new home for their much-suffered people – was small and insignificant.

 _Men fight wars_ , he thought tiredly. _Then they cheer the coming of peace. But even while they are doing that, they always seem to seek out a new fight, just to keep the peace from becoming too comfortable. Will this infernal circle be ever broken? Will the Quorum learn from the mistakes of the past, stop their childish squabbling and finally learn to act with the responsibility that had been entrusted to them?_ As much as he wanted to believe it, he found he couldn’t.

It seemed, however, that no-one aside him was nurturing such pessimistic thoughts. Everyone else seemed to have a good time, Colonial fugitives chatting amiably with Federation diplomats or Starfleet officers. Perhaps they wouldn’t even notice if he quietly left, returning to the _Galactica_ , the only place where he was truly needed... where the true outcome of their long flight will finally be decided. Just as it had been decided in all the long _yahrens_ of their search.

But as he began to drift towards the exit, a long shadow was cast in his way. He looked up in surprise and recognized the approaching tall, imposing man as the Vulcan ambassador.

After the opening dance, Sarek of Vulcan had a few short and rather futile discussions with various members of the _Quorum of Twelve_. Thanks to his experienced eye and his decades-long experiences among humans, he understood quickly enough that the diplomats of the fugitives were among the worst ones of this particular bred of humanity: people, who – lacking true influence – held stubbornly to their formal powers. _Siress_ Tinia seemed the most intelligent among them, but even she was almost as obstinate and narrow-minded as his male colleagues.

Having made his first – and not very encouraging – impressions, Sarek smoothly passed the members of the _Quorum_ to his own colleagues who had originally been chosen to accompany him during the negotiations with the Tholians. He new that the unshakably calm Tillottama would be able to keep the situation under control while he talked to Commander Adama. Sarek expected better insights from the unyielding old warrior than from the entire _Quorum_ together.

“Well, in fact the _Quorum of Twelve_ isn’t completely made up of idiots,” Adama laughed, after they had retreated to the office of the _Rising Star_ ’s captain to have some privacy. “After all, I am a member of the _Quorum_ myself, and as you might have realized by know, _Siress_ Tinia can be quite reasonable... if she chooses to.”

“Indeed,” Sarek admitted thoughtfully.

“She is a very smart woman,“ Adama added as an afterthought. “Arians usually are. Sometimes she is even willing to listen to others, what isn’t necessarily characteristic for most members of the _Quorum_. When the negotiations start in earnest, you’ll be able to count on her. And on me, of course.”

“That is at least a step into the right direction,” Sarek said. “The most important thing is that your ships get as far from the rift as possible. My son estimates that the rift will not even begin to close any earlier than ten standard days. Time enough for these Cylons to reach it and cross it, if they are determined enough to find you at any costs.”

“Trust me – they are,” Adama replied grimly. “How long will it take, according to Commander Spock’s calculations, until the rift closes completely? He mentioned lately that he couldn’t give any exact date for it.”

“That is correct,“ Sarek nodded, “but he has, at least, calculated the probabilities. According to his theory, based on the current rate with which the anomaly is tightening, the rift needs at least 22.4,3 standard days to shut down completely. Unless, of course, one should try to seal it artificially, with antimatter. But that would be a very risky maneuver.“

“Why?”

“As far as we know, it has never been tried before. Should the experiment backfire, we could create a new rift, many times the size of the current one. And since we have no idea where such an anomaly actually leads – into another galactic quadrant, into another galaxy or into an entirely different universe – the consequences could be beyond our comprehension.”

“Which means, it’ll be safer to allow the rift to close on its own,” Adama finished logically. 

The Vulcan nodded. “Correct.”

”That would mean a battle with the Cylons, though,“ the old commander warned. Sarek folded his hands and pressed the tips of his index fingers against each other and to his lips.

“We are aware of that, Commander. However, the Federation is very much capable of protecting its own territory. We already have four heavily armed ships here, and Captain Kirk has asked for reinforcements. The laser cannons of the Cylons should not be a real danger for _Constitution_ -class ships. And their weapons can doubtlessly level out the Cylons' advantage in numbers.”

“I’d be more careful with my optimism,” Adama shook his head. “Cylon basestars are the purest killing machines. And Cylon raiders are incredibly fast and maneuverable. They could very well endanger big ships.”

“I am not an expert when it comes to tactical decisions,” Sarek admitted, “but that is what we have Starfleet with its experienced starship commanders. Captain Suvuk of the _Intrepid_ has analysed your data about the Cylons and is working with the experts aboard the _Divine Wind_ to develop a tactical plan as we speak.”

“With all due respect,” Adama said, “I’m afraid that won’t be enough. These people have never fought Cylons.”

“But they have fought Klingons, or the pirates of Orion,” Sarek replied. “Nevertheless, should you wish to work with them on the plan, you are most welcome to do so. All you have to do is to contact Captain Braga from the _Divine Wind_. He is a man open for good advice, as humans say.”

“Even if said advice comes from the fugitive commander of a beaten fleet?” Adama asked pessimistically.

Sarek raised a perfect Vulcan eyebrow.

“Surak – the one who taught our people the path of peace – said that a victory through violence is no victory at all,” he replied. “Therefore, I cannot understand why your military defeat should make you unfit to offer advice, based on your personal experience with the enemy.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Colonel Tigh rarely used his influence for personal advantages. To be correct, this was the first such time ever. His threatening manner – especially because it had never been shown earlier – intimidated the manager of the _Rising Star_ ’s elite restaurant so much, that he opened for the colonel and her lovely guest the private separee usually reserved for the _Quorum_ members... well, after some weak protests. When the reception – and the hubbub that came with it – reached its peak, Tigh navigated Uhura over to this private room, without stirring any attention.

Uhura looked around in amazement.

“Where are we?” she asked. “And why have you brought me here?”

“This is a private room,” the colonel replied, “and I have no hidden agenda, _Siress_ Uhura. All I want is to enjoy your company without interruptions, so I… well, _persuaded_ the manager of this establishment to open this suite for us.”

“You should not have make such expenses,” Uhura shook her head tolerantly, although she was a little flattered. “This looks... luxurious, I’d say. No doubt, so will be the price.” 

Tigh shrugged.

“This is the best we can currently offer,” he said. “Back on the homeworld, there had been wondrous places we could have visited – many of them were a lot more amazing than this is. And even this is limited to a few chosen people in the entire Fleet. But this is the first time since the destruction of our colonies that I can go out with a beautiful woman, so I thought I can afford to spend some of the money I never use anyway.” He leaned closer, with a conspiratory expression: “I happen to know that they serve here the best _ambrosia_ of the whole Fleet.”

Uhura smiled. “Sounds promising. But I’d like to set something straight first – are we having a date?“

Tigh nodded. “If you don’t mind. I’ve got a lot to catch up in the romantic department.“

Uhura nested into the colourful silk pillows on the couch and folded her legs under herself with cat-like grace. At least she _thought_ the pillows had silk cases… they certainly _felt_ like silk.

“I like it romantic,” she said with a delighted laugh. “And I have to admit that you impress me, with going such great lengths for my sake.”

Tigh absent-mindedly folded his cape and laid it over the back of a chair. Then he sat down next to her.

“If I managed to impress you, then the invention has paid out already,” he answered, taking her hand and kissing her palm as he always did when they were alone. “May I call the waiter now?”

“It’s your ship,” Uhura replied.

“In a sense,” Tigh corrected and rang the bell.”

A fragile, elderly waiter – with a wrinkled face and very dark skin – entered and presented two bottles without asking. Both bottles looked rather old, and one of them had a strange, angular golden seal.

“I heard you wished something special for tonight, Colonel,” the old man bowed with surprising ease. He offered the open bottle first and poured some of its contains in two tall, slender silver chalices. “This is the best vintage we still have. But _this_ ,” he placed the gold-sealed bottle in front of Tigh, “is something unique.”

“Why, it certainly is!” Tigh checked the golden seal and whistled. “This is from the _Old Cellars_ of Libra! How did you manage to get it?”

“My father used to be the Cellar Master there, Colonel,” the old man said. “When our homeworld was destroyed, I was visiting my home and could escape on a freighter. Only two bottles remained from the _Old Cellars_. This is one of those. I’ll keep the other one, and if we ever find a new home, I’ll open it and empty it myself.”

“But why are you offering this to me?” Tigh asked, a little surprised. “You could have people bargain for it and probably earn your own ship.”

The old man shook his head. “This bottle is too precious to have drunken fools bargain for it. But you, Colonel, you and your warriors, have protected the rest of our people during the long years of flight. You made our survival, as a folk and as individuals, possible in the first place. This is my gift to you, a sign of our gratitude. May it give you and the _Siress_ joy.”

With that, he bowed again and left noiselessly. Tigh shook his head in amazement, unable to say anything.

“You know, _Siress_ Uhura,” he finally said, “there were times when I thought the civilians had no idea what it cost us to protect their lives. Those were hard times, without any relief. And I don’t believe the future will be easy, either, not even with the help of your Federation. To build a new home will take a long time and demand much hard work… if we ever manage it.”

“Are you thinking of giving up your career as a military officer?” Uhura asked. Tigh thought about if for a moment.

“I don’t believe I could continue the same way,” he then answered. “I’ve carried the burden of responsibility too long, without being allowed to take part of the important decisions.”

“That’s the fate of all First Officers,” Uhura smiled. “That’s why they get promoted to starship captains, after the proper amount of time.”

“Usually, they do,” Tigh agreed. “But our Fleet doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t believe it would be re-built during my lifetime.”

“What are you planning to do with your life, then?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Not yet, anyway. I’m a warrior, _Siress_ Uhura; I’ve fought the Cylons all my life… lately from the Bridge, where one is the most helpless. I have no idea how to live in peace… without fear, without bearing the suffocating responsibility for the survival of an entire culture.”

For a moment, he remained silent and glared at his chalice, his dark, handsome face hopeless and exhausted. Uhura touched his hand compassionately.

“It is never easy to begin everything anew,” she said quietly. “When my partner and our little daughter died, I had to leave them behind on the planet where I used to serve at the time. It was fifteen years ago; I never had the chance to return there. Sometimes a phase of our life ends with the same finality as a door closes, and we have to simply go on. It’s a similar experience that awaits you now.”

“And I have no idea how to deal with it,” Tigh admitted with a sigh.

“A new start like this demands much endurance,” Uhura said. “ _And_ the readiness to learn new things.”

“Oh, I _am_ willing to learn,” the colonel replied. “But I am also very tired. And probably not young enough anymore to start living a normal life now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Uhura chided him. “Yes, it’s going to be hard, but you have the strength to deal with it. Or are you afraid to leave this steel coffin that’s barely able to creep along between the stars?”

“This steel coffin is our last hope and our only home,” Tigh said slowly. 

Uhura smiled. “Not anymore.”

Tigh nodded. “I know that. Theoretically, at least. But it’s not easy to imagine. It’s never easy to give up what one knows, even if it meant endless years of loneliness.”

“Have you been alone all these years?”

“Yes, _Siress_ Uhura. My wife died on Libra when the Cylons came, as you know, and although regulations have been loosened – we had to survive somehow, after all – I always found it against my principles to have… affairs with the women serving under me. Granted, it was not always easy. But when you stepped out of that golden column of light aboard the _Galactica_ … I knew at once that the waiting was worth it.”

Uhura swallowed hard to keep her control. She had expected some sort of declaration from Tigh – the signs had been there all the time – but guessing it and hearing it were two very different things. She couldn’t deny her own attraction; she felt the heat rising in her face, and once again was thankful for her dark complexion that saved her from blushing. Nevertheless, he knew that the man who never turned those gorgeous eyes from her face could feel her answering passion, so she decided to be straightforward.

“Strangely enough, I had a similar feeling when we met during the first meeting,” she said. “I, too, have lived alone for years, and I got used to it after a while. But I have always hoped that this will change one day. You must know that in our tribe it’s the woman who makes the choice. I think I was right to wait with that choice until now.”

“Does it mean… yes?” Tigh asked, a little uncertainly.

“This means _maybe_ ,” Uhura corrected. “It’s not my way to become intimate so quickly. Besides, that would still mean nothing in the long run.”

“I know,” Tigh nodded. “The burning of fire is one thing… the responsibility for a stable relationship is a different one. But we should not refuse either.” He turned Uhura’s hand upside again and kissed her palm once more. “I admit freely that I want you. I want you so much that it hurts. I haven’t had such strong feelings for a woman for… for longer than I can remember. Please, don’t reject me.”

Uhura caressed his lips with her thumb in a slow, gentle gesture, and Tigh’s pupils dilated from her touch.

“I have learned to listen to my body and soul,” she murmured, “and I know that right now I need you as much as you need me. Very well… you can have me. But not now, not here. This is a hotel room, no matter how luxurious it is… I want it to be somewhere that is _home_. In a sense, at least.”

“You name the time and the place,” Tigh replied simply. “I’ve waited for you so long… sometimes I almost think I’ve waited for you all my life. A few days will make no difference.”

“You won’t regret to have waited a little longer,” Uhura promised. “My people have some rituals that need to be performed at the beginning of a relationship. It’s an ancient custom, but I never heard anyone complain about it,” she added with a smile. “It doesn’t mean, though, that you need to keep your distance until then.”

“I’d be hard-pressed to do _that_ ,” Tigh slid his hands in a caressing manner up to her shoulders; then he leaned in for a kiss.

Uhura didn’t resist. She returned the kiss, massaging Tigh’s tense neck muscles gently but firmly. Tigh relaxed under her fingers and opened his mouth under hers, surrendering control to her and simply enjoying being kissed and caressed.

“You are delightfully compliant,” Uhura declared after a while and smiled. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

Tigh grinned and burrowed himself into her warm embrace in an almost child-like manner. “I certainly hope so. A relationship without fun is not worth beginning in the first place. Although it might be a little strange for me, getting used to have fun again.”

“Oh, I can promise you a whole lot of fun,” Uhura laughed. “After we’ve celebrated the ritual aboard the _Enterprise_ personal imagination can have free roam.”

“That sounds nice,” Tigh shifted positions, so that he could bury his face in Uhura’s neck. “I think I’ll be able to come up with a few… imaginative things if allowed to do so.”

His warm breath tickled Uhura’s skin, and she shivered involuntarily.

“I certainly won’t hinder you,” she replied, entwining her fingers with Tigh’s thick hair. “By the mothers… it’s so good to feel you…”

“I happen to share the sentiment,” Tigh murmured, hugging her tightly, and Uhura leaned against him with misty eyes. She was almost scared by her strong reaction – never had she met a man, since Oulu’s death, who would induce such profound feelings in her. The fire of the _Soaring_ burned hot and bright in her heart, in her whole being. Yes, they would perform the _mesq_ , once they returned to the _Enterprise_ , and then she would love as she had not loved for many, many years…

“Wait,” she said, gathering the shards of her control and pushing away Tigh’s head gently. “Not now, please. This is neither the right place, nor the right time.”

“Forgive me,” Tigh, too, regained his control with considerable difficulty. “I got carried away a little. It won’t happen again. Shall I call the waiter now? We are supposed to have a romantic dinner tonight.”

Uhura nodded, once again calm and controlled.

“Yes, please,” she said, her voice steady again. “That would be very nice.”

Tigh rang the bell, and they had a very romantic dinner, while protocol ruled in the other rooms of the _Rising Star_.


	9. The War Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the supporting characters are either from ST – TOS or from various TOS-novels. The only OCs are Ngarak’kai and Captain Braga; the latter has been named after the long-time Star Trek executive producer, Brannon Braga, of course.
> 
> Y Tucani III is not a canon Trek world. The planet and its red-skinned inhabitants come from the classic novel of Russian sci-fi author Ivan Jefremov, “The Andromeda Nebula”. I included them in this story as homage to this author whom I greatly admire.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
**Chapter 8: The War Council**

Two days after the reception, the starship commanders held a war council aboard the Federation destroyer, the _Divine Wind_. This monstrosity, equipped with three warp nacelles, was eight times the size of a _Constitution_ -class heavy cruiser and counted as the newest achievement of Federation technology.

Captain Braga, the commanding officer of the _Divine Wind_ , looked like an exceptionally large African – at least at first sight – with a darker-than-average skin who, for some personal reason, shaved his head. As soon as they got a chance to face him, though, and to look into his dark red eyes, Adama, Tigh and _Siress_ Tinia (who represented the civilian government of the Colonial Fleet) had to revise their opinion. With those eyes, and with the complete lack of facial hair (including eyelashes) Braga couldn’t be human. Humanoid, yes, but without doubt of a different race. They were told later that Braga belonged to the _Rijiil_ population that lived on the southern continent of Alpha Centauri VII – and never mingled with the humans moved to the northern continent by the _Preservers_ , millennia ago.

Commodore Katha'sat, the commanding officer of the _Kennedy_ couldn’t have been mistaken for a human, either. The grey-faced _Heste_ sat with crossed legs in one of the comfortable armchairs, and as _Heste_ have four joints in their legs, his limbs seemed hopelessly entangled. Seeing the bewildered looks of the Colonial officers, he pursed his lips in the most unexpected manner.

“What is he doing?” Adama asked, a little nervously. He had met more strange-looking (and even more strangely-behaving) aliens during the last days than ever in his whole, long life, and he felt slowly but steadily approaching his tolerance limit.

“He’s smiling,” Kirk told him, as if it would have been the most natural thing. Well, for Kirk - and for other Starfleet personnel - it actually was was.

The third commanding officer was a thin, medium-built and not particularly young Vulcan: Captain Suvuk, the hero of the Battle of Organia. Adama, having had a chance to look into the accessible Starfleet-databases, felt a certain… kinship towards him.

Commodore Robert Wesley, the commanding officer of the _Lexington_ , was a handsomely greying man in his late forties, almost as famous as Kirk himself... not to mention the fact that it was due to his instincts that Kirk didn’t get reduced to protons, together with his ship, during the ill-fated M5-experience. He was considered the best poker player in the entire fleet, and since he always won, there were barely any volunteers left to play against him, at least not for a second time.

Still, many applied for an assignment on his ship, as he was considered one of the most talented commanding officers. One who didn’t shy any dangers but didn’t take any unnecessary risks, either. One who knew how to stay alive in a dangerous galaxy like theirs. Beyond that, he performed the masterpiece to work with a Tellarite first officer (and a female one at that) for years, which few humans would have been capable of. Rumours said that he was about to retire from active duty, because he’d been offered the governor’s office on Mantilles, a colony at the farthest border of the Federation.

These were the people who had to stop the Cylon fleet, to keep it from reaching Federation territory. Starfleet’s finest. Still, the question remained, if they would be good enough.

“Ladies und gentlemen, it seems that we won’t be able to avoid a battle with the Cylons,“ Kirk opened the war council. “The goal of this meeting is to work out a useful strategy. Colonel Tigh, aide and strategic advisor to Fleet Commander Adama, offered to make us... familiar with the Cylon problem, for which we are extraordinarily grateful. Starfleet protocol will be recorded by Lieutenant Uhura, head of Communications aboard the USS _Enterprise_. Colonel, if you’d please.”

Tigh stepped to the main viewscreen of the conference room and, as Uhura had taught him, gave the computer a few verbal instructions. The big screen flickered to life. Formations of Cylon basestars and raiders showed up in rapid exchange, while Tigh gave the Starfleet officers some quick yet thorough information about Cylon firepower, tactics, ideology and goals, without burdening them with any unnecessary details. Even so, the debriefing took more than two hours, during which the faces around the conference table had become increasingly grim.

“We’ve got a problem,” Captain Braga summarized everyone’s opinion when Tigh finished.

“I’d say that’s correct,” Katha’sat agreed with a long face – a sign of resignation by _Heste_.

“A Cylon basestar is the ultimate killer,” Adama nodded. “A single one of them would be enough to destroy our entire fleet, as we only have the _Galactica_ for their protection. And we’ve detected the signs of at least _six_ basestars.”

“The basestars are not our problem,” Suvuk intervened calmly. “Our phaser banks and photon torpedoes can blow them off the skies like nothing. It’s the small raiders that are the actual threat for us. With impulse, our ships cannot maneuver quickly enough.”

“Not even the _Enterprise_ with Sulu at the helm,” Commodore Wesley added with a sour face. “And our helmsmen cannot compare themselves with him. We’d need a great deal of Tennet-5 fighters here.”

“Hunter’s squadron is already on its way here,” Kirk informed the others, “and it seems they’ll be on time.”

“That’s good – but not enough,” Captain Braga said grimly. “Not after what the Colonel had just told us. First and foremost, we’ll need to orchestrate a massive attack wave against the raiders, with phasers at maximum, beams scattered like a fan, in order to cover the broadest possible area. _After_ that, we’ll blow the basestars off the skies.

His XO, Ngarak’kai, shook her sleek head in disagreement. The tall, graceful woman from Y Tucani III, with literally red skin, was considered among Starfleet’s best strategists, partially because – unlike some of her male colleagues – she didn’t suffer from the delusions of godhood.

“We should stuck to reality,” she warned the others in a rough, throaty voice; this sensuous voice and the exotic gleam of her crescent-shaped, deep blue eyes with the slanted pupils, made a strange mix with her expertise and matter-of-fact manners. “This is a challenge that we face for the first time since Starfleet’s foundation. It’d be a fatal mistake to underestimate our enemy. I strongly suggest that we should transfer the supreme command over our united forces to those who know the enemy the best: Fleet Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh.”

Adama had already grown used to the fact that the Starfleet officers empathically addressed him as ‘Fleet Commander’, just like their own supreme commander, signalling that way the clear difference between his high rank and that of a Starfleet commander. To tell the truth, he had experienced more respect from the side of Starfleet that he ever had from the _Quorum of Twelve_. This particular suggestion was unexpected, nevertheless – although it filled him with satisfaction. Especially as _Siress_ Tynia was present to witness it.

“I’m honoured,” he said, “but I don’t know your technology well enough.”

“You do no need to,” Suvuk replied calmly. “That is what we are here for. What we need first and foremost is your experience with the Cylons. I would be interested in your suggestions. And in those of Colonel Tigh.”

Adama exchanged a look with his aide; then he nodded.

“We’ve discussed the topic,“ Tigh told the Starfleet officers, “and we came to the conclusion that it’ll be inevitable for our Vipers to join this fight.”

Kirk frowned. “You’ve fought the Cylons long enough,” he protested. Tigh nodded.

“That’s why we have a much better chance against the Cylon raiders, even with our own weapons. We’d suggest that we pull back the Fleet behind these planets here, and your ships assume a strategic position here… here… here… and here,” he pointed at a number of asteroids, close to the rim of the anomaly. “That way you can get the basestars under fire, as soon as they leave the rift. It’s of utmost importance that they are incapacitated, right at the beginning of the battle, if possible. That would separate the raiders from their command center as well as from their reinforcements.”

“Shouldn’t we destroy the basestars to achieve that goal?” Captain Braga asked.

Tigh shook his head tolerantly. “That won’t be necessary. Cylons are incapable of docking in without a guiding beam.”

“And what about the _Galactica_?” Ngarak’kai asked.

“We’ll bring the Battlestar into position above the rift,” Tigh pointed at the star chart again, “and launch our Vipers right in the back of the Cylons. We attack and evade at once, so that we won’t get into your firing line. Are the basestars knocked out, we maneuver the _Galactica_ directly _in front of_ the rift and fire at the Cylon raiders with broad-fanned beams from all sides. The ones who manage to get away from this fire-carpet must be taken out by our own fighters.”

“You can count on Hunter’s border patrol in this,” Kirk reminded him. “Those are battle-hardened people.”

“All right,” Commodore Wesley, the ranking Starfleet officer present, said. “Hereby, I’m transferring command over the entire maneuver to Fleet Commander Adama. As ranking Starfleet officer, I declare the _Galactica_ the flagship of this maneuver, as I assume you’d prefer to operate from the bridge of your own ship.”

“Thank you, Commodore,” Adama inclined his head, “I accept the responsibility.”

“Under one condition,” Wesley added. “I must insist that the Cylon basestars be destroyed. I respect your experience, but the whole thing seems too unsafe to me otherwise. We have colonies in the neighbouring systems, we can’t risk their safety.”

“I agree,” Captain Braga said, and Kirk, too, nodded emphatically. Suvuk didn’t take any sides, but his raised eyebrow revealed that he found the demand of his colleagues unnecessary.

Adama looked at his aide again. The colonel shrugged, his face blank.

“Very well,” the old commander said, “if you insist… Although I don’t see the need for that. But if that’s what it costs…”

For a moment, he paused, then he looked at his aide once more. “Do you still insist to lead a squadron personally, old friend?”

Tigh nodded. “I’ve asked you to transfer me back to the fighting troops often enough, Adama. Green Squadron hasn’t had a squadron leader since we lost Starbuck. The pilots will need my experience. And Omega is more than capable of taking over for me on the bridge.”

“That’s true,” Adama said, “ but I need you, too. That’s why a Viper is out of question, Colonel. But… we do have this small, very well-maneuverable destroyer that has barely seen any action so far. If you want to go out with the pilots, you’ll take that ship.”

“That’s impossible, Commander,” Tigh protested. “I’d need a computer expert for the navigation, and I can’t take Doctorr Wilker into battle. He’s irreplaceable for our people in peacetime.”

“Then take Boomer,” Adama said. “He’s almost as good as Wilker. And perhaps Mr Scott can lend you someone, to power up the ship a little.”

“I’d say you bring the ship over, to our shuttledeck,” Kirk suggested. “Scotty could take a look at it there, and decide what could be made and whom he should assign to the job.”

“Very well,” Adama nodded. “Our exchange program presumes that my officers would come to the _Enterprise_ anyway.”

“That it does,” Kirk agreed. “All right, it seems that we’ve covered everything… Or are there still questions?”

There weren’t any other questions, of course. Everything else would have to be decided during battle, based on the situation. Thus the meeting was closed, and everyone returned to his or her own ships. With the exception of Tigh, Boomer, Rigel and Cassiopeia, who – according the exchange program – followed Kirk and his officers to the _Enterprise_. 

They had a great deal of preparations to make. Some of those were of personal nature.


	10. First Sight, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I briefly leave the main storyline to introduce the other permanent couple of this series. The action will return in another two chapters, I promise.
> 
> Personnel officer Wong is a canon character. She appeared as a witness on Kirk’s trial in the episode _Court-Martial_. As her name was not given in the episode, I named her after the actress who played her. The feline species of Eeiauo are introduced in Jean Lorrah’s novel, _Uhura’s Song_. In the same novel is Uhura’s duty time on the planet _Two Twilights_ mentioned.
> 
> As for Masters’ complaints, in certain TOS-episodes there were, in fact, actual hints that women had it a lot harder in Starfleet than men did. At least among humans. Yes, I know it’s the 23rd century. But humanity doesn’t seem to develop with half the speed mentally as we develop technically. Plus, Kirk’s attitude towards women is canon, after all.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 9 - First Sight, Part 1**

Captain Boomer was well known in the entire fleet for his caution. He had been a mere cadet at the Caprican Flight Academy when he had already possessed the ability of examining ideas from all vantage points before drawing his well-phrased conclusions. Aside from that, he was also aware of the advantages of respectful behaviour in any situation, more so than anyone else of the young pilots. During tactical briefings he was the one to ask questions no one else thought of; and he was able to ask them in a way his commanding officers wouldn’t find insulting… an ability that proved very helpful for his career.

Of all the _Galactica_ ’s lead Viper pilots, Boomer was known as the most methodical. He rarely started shooting randomly and could line up his targets in the proper order of importance more quickly and with more accuracy than anyone else in the Fleet’s fighter squadrons. Nothing could prove this better than the fact that he was still alive, while his best friend, the brilliant but hot-headed Starbuck, had been missing in action for several _yahrens_ by now.

Actually, he was rather proud of his reputation. There was nothing wrong with being careful and smart – and consequently being alive. Yes, most of the time he thought this was the best way to survive as a combat pilot. Yet in other times he wished to shoot his reputation to Hades. In these times he, too, was tempted by recklessness, desiring to let loose. He wished for just moment in which he could escape his duties, the confinements of logic – like gas leaking out of a faulty conduit. When he strongly felt such urges increase, he sometimes asked himself if he was finally losing his mind, as many of his fellow pilots did. Yes, as much as Command tried to cover it, everybody knew that some warriors just weren’t strong enough to deal with the pressure and broke at the most inconvenient moment.

Which was no wonder, actually. For _yahrens_ upon _yahrens_ have they lived under the constant threat of impending battle, crowded in the much too small barracks of the _Galactica_ , without rest, without recreation, without any pleasant distractions. On the rare occasion when he felt himself attracted to a pilot or a bridge officer of the opposite gender, they made love hastily, uncomfortably, in the cockpit of a Viper or a shuttle, or hiding in an access tube, as there was no privacy aboard the _Galactica_. 

Nowhere on this whole flying monstrosity was.

This was a fate shared by everyone; not even the commanding officers were an exception. Apollo shared quarters with Boxey. Adama and Tigh lived alone, but they only returned to their quarters to sleep. Especially Tigh, who practically hadn’t left the bridge since the destruction of the Twelve Worlds. People had accepted this sort of life, even though they had never been able to get used to it; nobody considered that there should have been more to life anymore. Survival was everything. Anything else had become irrelevant.

Right now however, when the unexpected turn of events had brought the longed-for peace so heart-breakingly close, Boomer felt the usual, all-consuming unrest stronger than ever. For the first time in his life, he started worrying about the future – for the simple reason because it looked that they actually _might_ have a future. After so many long _yahrens_ of hopeless struggle for the simple survival, the young captain actually started to hope.

“Come with me, Captain,” the thin, middle-aged Dr McCoy called out to him. “We are about to return to the _Enterprise_. I heard you’re coming with us.”

“According to Commander Adama’s orders,” Boomer replied, and he followed the doctor. Using the intradermal translator chip caused him less problems now than it had in the first days. Besides, he started to understand Federation Standard already. Compared with his own mother tongue it seemed rather… primitive, to be honest. He had always been talented in learning new languages, and now he saw whole new worlds opening up before his eyes in that particular area.

On the bridge of the _Galactica_ the others were already waiting for him. Colonel Tigh stood on the side of his personal guest, the lovely _Siress_ Uhura. The tall, thin, pointy-eared alien was accompanied by Dr Wilker. There was Cassiopeia, this time as the expert for social and interpersonal relations. Dr Salik represented Life Center and Rigel the bridge officers.

“Is everybody here?” asked Uhura. The others nodded, so she flipped her communicator open and spoke, “Uhura to transporter room.”

“Kyle,” an… educated male voice answered.

“Beam us aboard in two groups, Mr. Kyle,” Uhura said. “You do have the coordinates, don’t you?”

“Aye, Ma'am,” the transporter chief replied. “Ready to beam-over. At your mark.”

“Energize,” Uhura said, and the first group disintegrated into glittering energy.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Boomer was next in the line in the second group, together with Tigh and Uhura. As he had been told, he stood very still (and more than a little anxious), waiting what would happen, When the air started to glitter around him, he felt something strange for a moment, a light euphoria – then he found himself in an unfamiliar, circular room, standing with stiff knees on one of the six platforms of an equally circular dais.

Opposite the dais, behind a complicated-looking console, Mr. Scott stood, the chief engineer of the _Enterprise_ \- a broad-shouldered man in his forties -, a friendly smile spread over his lined face.

“Welcome aboard,” he said with a nod, and then he introduced the almond-eyed young woman in Services red on her side. “This is Chief Wong, our personnel officer. She’s prepared quarters for you.”

“Follow me, please,” Wong invited them. Then, turning to the communications officer, she added, “Lieutenant Uhura, you are expected in the conference room.”

“Thanks, Chief,“ Uhura gave Tigh a smile. “I’ll seek you out as soon as I can, Colonel. And I’ll organize a guardian angel for Captain Boomer, too.”

Laughing, she stepped into the turbolift cabin, while the two colonial officers followed Chief Wong into the other ‘lift.

“Deck four,” the personnel officer told the universe in general, after twisting a handle on the lift wall, and the cabin started with surprising smoothness. Seeing the baffled face of her guests, Wong added as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “The ship’s computer answers to verbal commands. You can use your own language; Lieutenant Palmer interfaced the board systems with the universal translator.”

The miracles didn’t seem to cease to the men, accustomed to the rough life in the _Galactica_ ’s barracks. The broad, arched floors of the Starfeet ship, all painted in soft colours, were blank clean as if polished, and the crew – men wearing bright red, blue and yellow pullovers and women wearing short tunics in the same colours – didn’t really look like the members of a military organization.

“Where have we come, colonel?” Boomer asked, not quite trusting his own eyes.

“This is what peace looks like, Boomer,” Tigh answered in the Libran dialect. Since Boomer’s parents had moved from Libra to Caprica before their son had been born, the young captain understood this rare dialect and used it, too, whenever he was alone with his commanding officer.

The airy and comfortable quarters brought a new source of bewilderment for Boomer.

“Are you certain that these large rooms have been selected for me?” he asked his guide.

Wong looked at him in surprise. “These are regular officer’s quarters, Captain, not even VIP-rooms. All crewmembers above from junior-lieutenants have the same quarters at their disposal. The _Enterprise_ is big enough, we don’t need to move closer together.”

“Not even Commander Adama has such large quarters on our ship...”

“Well, you live on a battleship,” Wong shrugged. “We don’t. Besides, circumstances will surely change for you, too, as soon as you’ll have a planet to settle on again. Let me show you the basics. This is your bathroom; you can use sonic shower as well as real water; or you can have a bath with whirlpool. These systems work with verbal commands. Here can you enter your walk-in cupboard, and this is your computer terminal. From here, you can access the library computer of the _Enterprise_ and ask for any non-classified information you want. I suggest you pack out your bag and become familiar with your quarters. Someone will fetch you for lunch in due time.”

Boomer took the personnel officer’s advice. Packing didn’t take too much time, since he barely had any personal possessions, like the fugitives in general. After he’d tried everything, including both kinds of shower, he got dressed again and went over to the bedroom area, separated from the living area by a decorative grille, and let himself fall onto the huge, splendid bed. These rooms might have been nothing special by Starfleet standards; compared to the crowded sleeping quarters of the _Galactica_ , they were heaven.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The sound of the doorbell woke him from his sleep. He didn’t even remembered falling asleep. _I must have been more exhausted than I thought_.

“Enter,” he murmured, still half in sleeping haze, using his mother tongue out of reflex. The computer seemed to understand him anyway, as it dutifully opened the door. There was a slender, handsome, dark-haired young man standing on the doorstep, with slanted, twinkling eyes. He was not an inch taller than the definitely short Tigh; his smile literally inscrutable.

“Good day, Captain,“ he said, extending his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, chief helmsman of the _Enterprise_. Some claim that I’d be the best pilot in the Fleet, so Lieutenant Uhura thought we’d get along well enough.”

“I’m sure we will,” Boomer squeezed the proffered hand carefully; he was still unfimiliar with the typical Terran custom. “Have you ever flown battle assignments with one-man fighters?“

Sulu’s smile seemed to pale a little. “Earlier, on Ganjitsu, when I was very young, yeah. We had to defeat our colony against pirates on a daily basis. And I have served at the border partols for a while, in the squadron of Captain Hunter. She’s the toughest leader among the fighting troops, you know.”

“I thought you had peace,” Boomer said, a little baffled.

“We have,” Sulu agreed, “but it’s a watchful peace. Most people have probably no idea what’s going on along the borders... because the border patrols do their jobs so well. Granted, Starfleet is first and foremost dedicated to research and discovery, but we are also dedicated to the protection of our worlds.”

“You speak like a tactical expert,” Boomer grinned.

“Well, I _am_ one, after all,“ Sulu’s grin broadened again. “Even though I started my career in the science department.“

“You have?”

“Yeah, I used to be an astrophysicist. A rather good one, if I may say so myself. But it always was more of a hobby than a true calling for me. I guess I’ve been obsessed with flying all my life. To tell the truth, I can’t wait to take a closer look at one of your Vipers. They look like a very fine piece of machinery.”

“I’ll be happy to show you my fighter,” Boomer promised. “And what are we doing now?”

“We're going to eat something,“ Sulu answered merrily.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The ‘rec deck’ was situated on Deck Eight. Its central room, designed to be the officers’ lounge, was almost empty when they arrived. Only at one table in a corner sat a small, slender, dark-haired woman, wearing the blue uniform of the Science Division. She was studying her electronic notebook while picking some nuts from a small bowl absent-mindedly. She had some vague resemblance of a Libran dancer Boomer used to know, and as he imagined her in the glittering, sideless gown of a Libran _rari_ , the young captain’s heartbeat quickened involuntarily.

“Who’s that?“ he asked quietly. Sulu gave the young woman a cursoly look.

“You mean Lieutenant Masters? She’s a physicist, but she usually works in Engineering with Mr. Scott. She is the best warp specialist of her generation.”

“Do you think we can join her?“ Boomer asked. Scientists always impressed him, and he liked their company. Especially when they were lovely young ladies. Besides, he had the feeling as if he’d seen Lieutenant Masters on the diplomatic reception. 

Sulu’s grin started to grow again. “You’re a lucky man, Captain. Accidentally, I’m one of the few leading officers whom Lieutenant Masters doesn’t consider as her enemies. Shall I introduce you?”

“I’m not sure I understand your hint, Lieutenant Sulu.”

“You’ll figure it out early enough, just wait,” the helmsman laughed. “Well, what’s it? Do you want to be introduced or not?”

“I’d appreciate if you did,” Boomer replied a little stiffly.

Sulu, holding his head high, like most short people, walked to the woman’s table and gave her a friendly grin. “May we join you, Dr Masters?”

The lady officer looked up. She had short-cropped, curly black hair, which made her lovely, dark face look a lot younger than she actually was. In her large, dark eyes that seized up Boomer curiously, there was intelligence, knowledge and willpower.

“Of course, Mr Sulu,” she said in a pleasant, smoky voice and put her electric notebook aside. “As a former colleague, you are always welcome, and you know that. You have brought a guest, I see?”

“This is Captain Boomer from the Battlestar _Galactica_ ,” Sulu introduced his company. 

The lady officer proffered a small hand. “Charlene Masters, Lieutenant J.G. My pleasure, Captain. I saw you on the vids. And on the reception, I believe.”

“What do the letters J.G. mean?” Boomer inquired, holding her strong, warm hand a moment longer that it would actually have been appropriate. 

Masters gave him a wry grin. “It means that I’m not a full lieutenant yet, and I’m reminded of that fact often enough. That I’ve wasted six years of my life after the Academy to study geophysics and warp technology at the _Delthara Universty_ , instead of working on my Starfleet career. Certain leading officers have a hard time to forgive me my two doctorates.”

Boomer shook his head in mild bewilderment. “This is something again that I don’t seem to understand.“

“It’s not your fault,“ Sulu assured him supportively. “It’s just so that Dr Masters comes from Mars Colony 8, and people from Mars are often confronted with prejudice within the Fleet.“

“Why should they?”

“It’s a matter of simply envy, I guess,” the helmsman shrugged. “Scientific education on Mars is very thorough. It takes almost twice the time as on other former Earth colonies and starts during childhood already. People from Mars have sixty per cent more chances to get to one of the best universities than candidates from other Federation worlds, except, of course, Vulcans.”

“And this… what school was it again?”

“ _Delthara University_?”

“Yes. Is it really that good?”

“If it comes to physics and technology, it’s perhaps the best in the entire Federation,” Masters nodded. “It’s certainly the most famous. After all, the chair of Zefram Cohrane, whom we have to thank for warp technology and artificial gravitation, used to be there.” She paused, then she added in a _de facto_ manner. “I was awarded with the Centaurian Ring of Honour as the best student of my graduation year – that’s something nobody else can say about themselves in the entire crew.”

“Why in the Twelve Worlds do then people blame you for it?” Boomer asked in bewilderment. Among his people, scientists were held in the highest esteem.

“Because certain high-ranking officers are still deadly afraid of smart women,” someone replied in Masters’ stead.

Looking up, they discovered Uhura, who – on Colonel Tigh’s arm – had been approaching them unseen, and was now standing right at their table.

“At times it seems to me that nothing has changed since the medieval witch hunts – or, at the very least, since my times.”

“What do you mean?” Sulu inquired. Uhura’s smile turned bitter.

“I, too, studied at the _Delthara University_ , Hikaru.”

“I know that,” Sulu still didn’t understand a thing.

“Yes, but you probably don’t know that aside from communication, I also studied interstellar law, linguistics and xenopsychology.”

“Xenopsychology?” Sulu digested this brand new piece of information with a frown. “Well, I guess, it comes handy in your line of work.”

“My line of work was supposed to be more than just communications, Hikaru. Much more.”

“You could tell us the whole story, couldn’t you?” Boomer suggested. 

Uhura hesitated for a moment, then she gave in. “Why not? It’s been quite a while, though. The _Enterprise_ was still under the command of Captain April...“

“Was he not the founder of the entire starship program?” Masters asked. 

Uhura nodded. “He was… and much more. He was the one who suggested Admiral Noguchi a new position aboard ships assigned to deep space exploration: that of the ship’s counselor. This person was supposed to be a close co-worker of the captain; among others translator, mediator between captain and crew, as well as between captain and all possible lifeforms a ship might meet during a mission.”

“That would have been quite a piece of work!” Sulu whistled.

Uhura noded again. “Indeed, it would have been. For that very reason, a very specific training was required. A few promising communications experts were chosen and sent for further studies first to the _Delthara University_ ; then, for the last year, to 114 Delta V. Captain April asked for female candidates, because he thought that women would be emphatically better suited for a job like that.”

“And you were one of those women?” Boomer asked.

“I was one of them; some of our teachers thought I was the best, although not all,” Uhura replied without false modesty. “After my studies, I served on the Federation outpost of _Two Dawns_ as the personal assistant of Ambassador Obote, for two years. Aside from the Embassy, only members of a feline species lived on this planet: a colony of Eeiauoans.” She smiled a little wistfully. “I was the first human who was able to learn their language and their songs… and the only alien whom they have accepted as a bard, so far.”

“And after that?”

“I was sent to the _Enterprise_ , under the command of Captain Pike by then. The whole thing was an experiment, so I was officially assigned as the chief of communications. That used to be my original job, and there were certain parallels between the two positions.”

“What became of the project?” Masters asked. “It was a rather ambitious one, it seems.”

“Unfortunately, it was rejected because of the resistance of the majority of starship captains,” Uhura shrugged. “Captain Pike was against it at first, too, but I managed to convert him. However, there were only a handful who would have been at least willing to give the concept a try. Some of us resigned, out of protest – Starfleet has lost some very capable and dedicated officers that way. The others, who didn’t want to lose the chance to live among the stars, accepted the degradation to communications officers.”

“You see your work as degradation?” Boomer asked quietly. 

Uhura suppressed a sigh. “It _is_ degradation, in many things. Instead of initiating first contact with an alien culture, or providing crucial entries to conferences, or support crew members in the cases of a personal crisis and having influence on the duty roster based on such situations – all things for which I’ve been sufficiently trained – all I can do is to open hailing frequencies for the captain and file messages, or supervise the work of the people who do it for me. That’s not what I studied for eight years long.”

“I still can’t understand why the starship commanders would reject the concept,” Boomer said thoughtfully. “Did they fear to lose their authority when they had someone to help them handle complicated diplomatic situations?”

Uhura grimaced. “Take a look at _our_ captain. Does he look like someone who would accept the help of a counselor?”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Sulu murmured.

“Although it would be very useful,” Masters inserted in a surprisingly sharp tone. “Especially when he’s on one of his famous ego-trips.”

“You don’t like him, do you?” Boomer asked.

Masters shrugged. “Well, I gave his over-developed male ego a blow that had an unfortunate influence on my career.”

“How that?” Tigh wondered. Until now, he’d been listening the rather bitter discussion quietly. It had a sobering effect on his admiration towards a new home and possibly new allies.

Masters shuddered. Her lovely face mirrored disgust. “There was an… unpleasant situation, right when I came aboard. I had to make our esteemed captain understand that sexual favours don’t belong to my regular duties. He… didn’t take it well.”

“I can’t imagine that,” Sulu shook his head in bewilderment. “I always thought Captain Kirk was a very fair commanding officer.”

“Small wonder,” Masters replied cynically. “He’s not into guys.”

“Unfortunately, Charlie is right, Sulu,” Uhura added. “The captain always left _me_ alone – most likely because I’ve already been part of the command crew in Captain Pike’s times. But there were quite a few female crewmembers whom he's approached.”

“Save Rand,” Sulu grinned.

“Save Rand.” Uhura agreed. “If we leave that incident out of consideration when the malfunctioning transporter beamed up two versions of him. After that I looked into that such an incident would never happen again.”

“How did you do that, if I may ask?”

“I used my contacts to get Rand transferred.”

“But Rand had a crush on the captain of the size of the Moon,” Sulu said.

“That’s right,” Uhura answered seriously. “And that exactly was the reason why I interfered. I’ve protected Rand ever since she came aboard as a frightened eighteen-year-old. I liked her too much to allow her to become Kirk’s doormat. Of course, in Captain Pike’s times I wouldn’t have to take pre-emptive measures,” she added dryly. “Chris Pike didn’t consider the female crew his personal hunting ground.”

“And I always thought you’d actually _like_ the captain,” Sulu shook his head.

“I _used_ to like him, once,” Uhura replied slowly, “and I still respect his abilities as a starship captain. He is good at what he does, and as long as he is my commanding officer, I’ll be loyal to him. But I don’t _like_ him… not anymore. Not since Triskelion.”

“I always wanted to know _what_ exactly did happen on Triskelion,” Sulu said.

“That’s something you’ll never learn from me,” Uhura answered dryly. “You had your chance… and you missed it.”


	11. First Sight, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Sulu’s failed romance with Mandala Flynn: that’s something established by Vonda McIntyre and addressed in at least two of her TOS-novels. The family backgrounds of Colonel Tigh and Boomer are my creation.
> 
> The name for Mars Solis – Malacandra – comes from the classic sci-fi novel “Silent Planet” by C. S. Lewis. I established in my private corner of the Trekverse that the inhabitants of the Mars colonies named their planet so out of respect for the author. In later stories, there will be more about the unique Marsian culture.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 10 – First Sight, Part 2**

There was a tense, unpleasant silence. Tigh and Boomer exchanged clueless looks. But they thought it better not to make any comments. Sulu stared ad the tabletop uncomfortably; his ever-present smile vanished without a trace, as if it had been wiped from his broad, friendly face. Only Charlene Masters didn’t seem to be bothered by the tense situation: she looked at the older woman calmly, unsmilingly, and as if her glance would have transferred some sort of message, Uhura mellowed considerably.

“Come on, Colonel,” she said, squeezing Tigh’s arm gently. “We have lunch waiting for us.”

The other three looked after them thoughtfully, as they found a place in the relative intimacy of the farthest corner of the officers’ mess. Tigh was wearing his decorative, midnight blue uniform with the silver adornments, as always (as far as Boomer could remember, practically nothing of the colonel’s personal possessions had survived the destruction of Libra). Uhura, however, was wearing civilian clothes, as she always did when off-duty in these days. Dressed exotically, with her hair put up, she reminded more of a princess from some far-away world than of a highly educated, talented and skilled Starfleet officer, which she, after all, was.

“There are two people who have found each other,” Masters commented.

“It seems so,” Boomer nodded, “and for my part, I’m happy for the colonel. He didn’t have many good things in his life; it’s high time for that to change.”

“Do you know him well?” Sulu asked.

“I served under him as a cadet already,” Boomer answered. “It wasn’t… easy. He comes from a very old, although not particularly influential Libran family, and Librans are, as a rule, a rather… interesting people. They are impulsive, quick to anger, usually highly talented – all in all, very strong personalities.”

“Taking a look at the colonel, I can believe that without difficulties,” Sulu said. Boomer nodded.

“These character traits have cost the colonel the command chair of a Battlestar more than once, although he’d have earned his own command richly. But he was as ruthlessly honest in voicing his opinions as he was cautious in battle. He protested loudly against rash and overly bold actions and picked too many fights with the _Quorum of Twelve_ about mindless risks taken when our pilots’ lives were at stake.”

Boomer interrupted himself, waving to the hesitatingly entering Rigel, who was still wearing the blue-and-silver uniform of the _Galactica_ ’s bridge crew. Her shiny, chestnut-coloured hair fell between her shoulder blades in one thick rope. She came closer, following Boomer’s wordless invitation a little shyly.

“May I…?”

Masters nodded. “Of course. We have no pre-arranged sitting order here. Have a seat, Corporal.”

Boomer introduced them to each other, and the young flight controller lowered herself onto one of the chairs, still half-prepared to spring up and bolt. She wasn’t a particularly shy person as a rule, but she wasn’t used to sit with staff officers at the same table, and the unknown environment made her a little uncertain as well.

“We’ve just been talking about Colonel Tigh,” Boomer informed her. “You as part of the bridge crew certainly know a lot more about him than I do.”

Rigel shrugged. “It depends. On the other hand, you are a Libran, too."

“Oh, no,” Boomer shook his head. “My _father_ was one. My mother was a Leo, which is a big difference. Besides, I’ve been born on Caprica anyway.”

“Were there such significant differences between the Twelve Worlds then?” asked Masters.

“Cultural differences were quite significant,” Boomers replied with a shrug, “although all twelve tribes used to live on a shared homeworld once. On a planet named Kobol.”

“A legend?” Sulu smiled, but Booker shook his head.

“No, Kobol _does_ exist. During our long flight, we have found the Old World… dead and empty like a seashell washed ashore.”

“What happened?” Masters asked.

“Kobol’s sun was too old to support life on the planet any longer. And then came the Cylons and finished the work of destruction,” Boomer sighed. “At any rate, Colonel Tigh used to be Adama’s wingman, in his days as a young pilot. The two of them flew highly dangerous missions with those sluggish old machines, and they became legends already in their lifetime. Not even the _Quorum_ was able to break the colonel… so they put him onto the bridge of the _Galactica_ and let him rot there.”

“He doesn’t seem to have lost his inner fire, though,” Masters commented. But Boomer made an uncertain gesture with his head and gave no answer.

“I think it was _Siress_ Uhura who awoke him from his frozen state,” Rigel said in her quiet and gentle voice. “I saw him crying openly when the Cylons came. We were still too far away, weren’t able to reach our worlds in time and so had to watch the destruction on the vid-screens. Libra suffered probably the most. Stubborn as they are, the Librans resisted with bitter determination, even as the battle was completely hopeless already. Barely a few thousand of them have survived. The colonel’s wife and their three little sons weren’t among them.

“Did you know his family?” Masters asked after a long moment of shaken silence.

“I only met them once, when I had to bring the colonel back from furlong by shuttle,” Rigel murmured. “He was less than six days at home, because of this damned war, and even that only once in a _yahren_. That was the last time that he could see _Siress_ Lilith and his children. They loved each other very much – it was a happy family.” She lowered her voice even more, as if fearing that Tigh might hear her, despite the distance. “ _Siress_ Lilith was pregnant with their fourth child when the Cylons came. She hasn’t lived to give birth Colonel Tigh has never been the same ever since.”

She paused, obviously trying to regain her composure. The memories seemed to weigh upon her heavily

“After the destruction, I flew him to Libra with a shuttle,” she finally continued. “He was almost… obsessed with finding at least the bodies of his family; as if _that_ would have helped anything. But all we found was a terrible black crater where once his home had stood. I’ll never forget his ashen face; it was as grey as the handful of ash that he let slowly run through his fingers, not knowing if he was holding the remains of his family or those of his house. And when he stood again and turned back to me, he had this hard, empty look in his eyes… as if he, too, had died. In a way, I think, he _was_ dead indeed,” she added sadly.

They all remained quiet for a while, paying their respects to the dead. Boomer then shivered, as if trying to shake off the sad memories of the past.

“Well, I’ve got nothing but respect for the colonel, and wish him from the heart that he may find happiness again.”

Rigel smiled. “At least we’ve heard him laugh again, while _Siress_ Uhura was visiting the _Galactica_ ,” she said. “I can’t remember that from the _yahrens_ of the flight.”

“I for my part am happy for Uhura in the first place,” Masters said. “It’s not easy for a female senior officer to find a partner. When an elderly commodore puts his tongue down the throat of an adolescent yeoman, people smile in appreciation and congratulate him for being still so youthful. But should a female officer get involved with a younger shipmate or with a fellow officer of lower rank… It’s astonishing that Terra’s hypocritical double morale still can poison the Fleet, despite the presence of so many other races.”

“You’re exaggerating, Charlie,” Sulu said mildly.

Masters raised an eyebrow. “Do I? Why has _your_ relationship with Mandala Flynn gone to hell, then?”

There was a hard tingle on Sulu’s friendly face. “That was a low blow, Masters. It was never a problem for me that Mandala outranked me. Nor did she make one of it for herself.”

“I know,” Masters replied with unexpected gentleness. “But other people _did_ have a problem with it, and they harassed Mandala so long that she finally asked for a transfer.”

“In the end, it was an advantage for her,” Sulu murmured. “How many women do have their own command in Starfleet? Unless they are Vulcans or Andorians?”

“It broke her heart,” Masters said dryly. “She loved you very much. Did you know that she tried to request you as her first officer?”

Sulu’s head jerked towards her in surprise. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I met her on Memory Alpha, during my last home leave. Apparently, she went as far as to the Old Man to negotiate your transfer. But Admiral Nogura wasn’t willing to take you from his _wunderknabe_ , of course.”

“And conveniently nobody ever thought of asking _me_ about the whole thing,” Sulu murmured bitterly. Masters gave him an inquiring look.

“Would you truly have accepted a transfer to the _Magellan_?”

Sulu hesitated for a moment; before he could give any answer, though, the intercom called him to the bridge.

“May I go with you?” Rigel asked. “I was promised a chance to look a certain Mr Chekov over the shoulder.”

“Sure, go with Sulu,” Masters waved generously. “I’ll take Captain Boomer under my wings.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve got for a very long time,” Boomer laughed when they were left alone. “Does it contain gastronomic counselling, Doctor Masters?”

Masters smiled, her dark, beautiful eyes warm now. “I suggest we abandon formalities,” she said. “My friends call me Charlie, and I’d be honoured to count you among my friends.”

“The honour is all mine,” Boomer replied. “Especially since I’ve got the impression that this isn’t an offer that would have been made lightly.”

Masters nodded. “Indeed, it is not. But how should I call you? Do you have a second name?”

“No. None of us have more than one name. At least none that hasn’t been brought up in the Old Faith, which I have not. You can simply call me Boomer.”

“All right… Boomer. Are you hungry?“

“Most of the time, actually,” Boomer grinned. “What’s on the menu today?”

“Whatever you want. Our food synthesizer can produce hundreds of dishes. What would you like?”

“I don’t know. What will _you_ have?”

“Don’t limit yourself to my eating habits. We in my family are vegetarians… well, most of the time. Feel free to eat meat in my company, though. It doesn’t bother me a bit. Or would you like fish?”

“Oh, yes, please. I haven’t had fish for… for longer than I care to count. Since we lost our homeworlds. The agroships weren’t built for animal husbandry.”

“Well, the smoked trout is said to be excellent,” Masters said. “And I never heard anything bad about the salmon, either. Or would you like curryfish with fruit rice?”

Boomer laughed. “I deliver myself into your capable hands.”

“It’s a little early for _that_ ,” Masters winked,” but keep that thought for a while. The meal will be served in a minute.”

She put the rests of her appetizer back into the recycler unit and returned to the table with a large plate, covered by a thermo-top. She placed the tray on the table, removed the top with a flourishing gesture and laughed at her guest.

“Behold: _fruits de la mere_ , by the book. Freshly taken from the witch kitchen of advanced chemistry.”

Boomer knew, of course, about the synthetic origins of his lunch – which didn’t change its mouth-watering smell a bit. Suddenly he realized how hungry he actually was. He shot his table neighbour a quick glance to see if she’d expect any sort of prayer or thanksgiving ritual from me. As Masters simply grabbed a fork and started to eat, however, he followed her lead. Lunch tasted as deliciously as it smelled, and as they discussed their respective careers between dishes, Boomer’s admiration towards the young scientist kept on growing gradually.

“You could teach at the best universities with your knowledge,” he pointed out. “Why do you let yourself be pushed around by block-headed people who can’t appreciate you? If I’d had the chance…”

He trailed off. The fact that he never had the chance to study had nagged on him since his childhood. Masters nodded in sympathy.

“I can understand what you mean, but… You know what? Come with me to the observations lounge, so that I can show you the answer.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
On _Constitution_ -class heavy cruisers, the observation lounge was situated directly above the rec deck. The two decks were connected by stairways and turbolifts. The four huge viewports of transparent aluminium followed the curvature of the discus-shaped primary hull and offered a spectacular view of the ship’s warp nacelles and the space beyond.

“Look at it,” Masters nodded towards the breath-taking panorama. “This is the only place aboard where we have a direct view at he stars, without sensors and vid-screens. Isn’t the view overwhelming?”

“It certainly is,” Boomer agreed. “I know only one place with an even more beautiful view: the celestrial dome of the _Galactica_.”

“Well, this is the reason why I’m here,” Masters said. “I’m a scientist, a researcher. Only Starfleet makes it possible to venture so far into uncharted territories. To seek out strange worlds, unknown stars, new cosmic phenomena. Nowhere else could I be so close to the heart of the universe.”

For a moment, she was quiet. Then, after a heartbeat or two, she smiled at him, laying her palm onto his chest. “Besides: how could I have ever found you, sitting in a professor’s chair at some university?”

Boomer covered the warm and strong small hand resting upon his chest with his own. “Is this meeting of ours of such importance?”

“Yes, it is,” Masters replied with an openness Boomer was unused to from the women serving aboard the _Galactica_. “For now I can see that I was right not to waste my time with worthless men. I always knew that some day someone worth waiting for would cross my way.” She caressed his broad chest with a playful hand and added slowly, with a particular emphasis on each individual word. “And… I believe… I’ve just found that someone.”

Boomer smiled, a little embarrassed, and, lifting her hand to his lips, kissed it. “You really don’t waste any time, do you? Are you always this direct?”

Masters shrugged. “Most of the time, yes. Once I hesitated too long and missed the chance to initiate a very promising relationship – I swore that I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Don’t misunderstand me, though. This is not the proverbial love at first sight. I’ve watched you ever since your ships crawled through the singularity. I viewed all the records you transferred to our ship…”

“Including the destruction of the Twelve Worlds?”

“And your missions against the Cylons, the battles fought to protect your people, yes. I noticed you right away when the logs from the first meeting between Fleet Commander Adama and our captain came in, but I looked for you in vain on the reception. So I had to gather information about you otherwise.”

“What have you done?” asked Boomer, completely befuddled.

“Uhura gave me a hand,” Masters admitted. “I asked her to find out all she could about you, and she did her best.”

“She did?”

“Of course she did; she’s a friend,” Masters gave him an uneasy look. “Are you mad at me? I hope you don’t feel cornered…”

“Should I?” Boomer carefully drew her to him and trembled, feeling her warmth and scent. “I’m afraid I’m just about to fall in love. At the proverbial first sight. And that although I know nigh to nothing about you.”

Masters laughed quietly and wrapped her arms around the pilot’s neck. “I’m willing to tell you everything you want to know about me.”

Boomer laughed back at her. “I must admit, Charlie, that conversation isn’t exactly what I have on my mind right now.”

“I certainly hope so,” Masters kissed him lightly. “Let’s go to my quarters. We can discuss the exact program later.”

“That’s a good idea,” Boomer smiled; for a heartbeat, he enjoyed Charlene’s closeness, then he let go of her and followed her to the turbolift.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Lieutenant Masters’ quarters were the same standard rooms as the ones Boomer had to his disposal, but they mirrored the complex personality of their inhabitant clearly. They were, to begin with, cool; several degrees below the average temperature aboard the _Enterprise_ , which Boomer, used to the _Galactica_ ’s low temperatures, found definitely refreshing.

The gravitation, on the other hand, matched the Mars-norm, and that made him a little light-headed first. Fortunately, it was easy enough to adapt. The furniture was Starfleet-standard, too (Boomer remembered _Siress_ Uhura calling this style Starfleet-ugly once), but the weird-looking potted plants on the chest of drawers and the wooden and ceramic knickknacks, placed on the shelves following some peculiar, perhaps even symbolic order, gave unmistakable hints of an alien world and a unique culture very different from his own… or from what little he had already learned about Earth.

The brightly coloured wall hangings reminded of abstract paintings, and the thick, soft wall-to-wall carpet was rusty red like Mars’ soil. There was a large holographic image embedded in one of the walls, like a window opening to the Sol system. The red planet occupied most of the picture, with the azure sickle of a raising Earth behind it.

“ _Malacandra_ ,“ Masters gestured towards the picture. “When I look at it, I always have the feeling that I’m on my way home.”

“Are you homesick sometimes?” Boomer inquired.

Masters shrugged, a little unsure. “Sometimes, yeah. I like travelling among the stars, but only Malacandra can give me the feeling to be at home. Our society and culture are very different from those of other former Earth-colonies. I’m always happy to go to home leave.”

“I envy you for that feeling,” Boomer said slowly. “It won’t be easy for us to settle on new worlds, build new homes, even if the Federation could offer us suitable planets.”

“Are you afraid of the future?” Masters asked. Boomer nodded soberly.

“A little, yes. During our flight we were under military law – that meant the rule of Commander Adama. I’m almost afraid to imagine what might happen when the civilian government wins the upper hand again.”

“Really? What _might_ happen in that case?”

“Nothing that would be good for us, I’m afraid. There always has been a certain rivalry among the Twelve Worlds. Caprica had been the first colony to rediscover space flight, and so it was able to obtain a slightly higher status. But this rivalry can easily escalate when it comes to the dividing of the new home among the survivors. Many have fought the privileged status of Caprica during our long journey already – this could lead to even more bitter fights for power.”

“Would it not divide your loyalties? Your parents originated from different worlds, didn’t they?”

“I’m not entirely sure whom I actually owe my loyalty,” Boomer said slowly, surprised and almost frightened a little by Charlene’s intuition. “I mean, I think of myself as a Caprican, of course, I _am_ one, after all, have never lived on any other worlds. On the other hand, Colonel Tigh might be right when he reminds us of the importance of our roots – and I have no Caprican roots. My father held traditions in high esteem. Most Librans do. And though he died when I was barely thirteen, somehow he’d managed to pass on this peculiar sense of responsibility to me. Besides, Libran culture really is a terrific thing, above all the various forms of art.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

“Only that I inherited the calm and level Leo-nature of my mother. Sometimes I doubt that I’d be able to live among Librans in the long run. I’m probably not fierce and competitive enough for that.”

“Well, there are still the Leos, aren’t they?”

“Oh no, that’s completely out of question. Never in my life would I voluntarily submit to _Sire_ Uri’s rule. The man is the worst plague, right after the Cylons themselves. No, I think I should support the Librans, after all. They have the lowest number of survivors from all the Twelve Worlds, and so they have been herded together on the oldest, most battered ships. They have a culture worth protecting and passing on… in case there still is anyone on those ships who could do that.” He shrugged. “Strangely enough, they seem to be interested in me. _Sire_ Togo, the Libran representative of the _Quorum of Twelve_ has initiated a… dialogue with me recently.”

“He did?” Masters asked. “What did he want from you?”

“I wish I knew… it was all very vague. _Sire_ Togo is a broken old man, without any considerable influence in the _Quorum_. I had the impression that he’s planning to retire.”

“And what if he does?”

“He must name his successor – one that the overwhelming majority of Libran people would vote for. And I couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’s got his eyes on Colonel Tigh for that position. Especially as _Sire_ Solon, too, was present.”

“Is that of such importance?”

“Oh, yes. _Sire_ Solon is the chief accuser of the colonies; therefore he cannot aspire for the seat of a councilman himself. But he is a determined Libran patriot… and the colonel’s late wife was his sister.”

“Is that the reason why he’d want to suggest the colonel?”

“No. Libra has lost much of its importance, partially because only a handful of Librans have survived. People need a councilman who’d defend their interests and wouldn’t let himself be intimidated. Colonel Tigh isn’t known for being easily intimidated. Besides, he’s highly respected, both for his military rank and his past as a legendary combat pilot.”

“You think he’d accept?” Masters inquired. The political intricacies of the Twelve Worlds began to fascinate her. Boomer thought about the question for a while.

“That’s hard to tell,” he finally said. “On the one hand, he has very strong sense of duty and responsibility towards his own people, like all Librans have. On the other hand, he’s full of bitterness over his own treatment by the _Quorum_ , and it’s doubtful if he’d be willing to do as much as breathe the same air as the rest of the councilors. I’d say, his decision would depend on _Siress_ Uhura, though.”

“The two are very obviously in love,” Charlene nodded. “But if the colonel accepts the Libran seat in the _Quorum_ , would that have any effects on _your_ life?”

“Afraid so,” Boomer sighed. “I’d have to join him; that much _Sire_ Solon and _Sire_ Togo have made very clear. A member of the _Quorum_ needs his own team, preferably from his own people, at least partially; and I’m very good with all sorts of computers and other technical things, aside from being a trained warrior. After all that we’ve been through together, I cannot abandon him now. He’s a very strict superior, but he’s torn out a limb for us many times, regardless of the personal consequences.”

“There’s a way for you to escape this trap, though,” Masters said calmly. Boomer gave her a surprised look.

“There is?”

“You could join Starfleet, after absolving the required courses. Or join another space-faring organization. Really good pilots are very rare and much sought after. Even by the _Red Wings_.” 

“And what in the Twelve Worlds _are_ the Red Wings?”

“The planetary fleet of Malacandra. They fly shared missions with the research ships of Alpha Centauri VII,” Masters gave him a friendly wink. “Usually, they don’t accept off-worldlers, but I could put in a good word for you. My Uncle Gerald is one of the six staff officers.”

“I don’t know,” Boomer murmured. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of abandoning my people.”

“That’s just plain xenophobia; we all suffer from that at times,” Masters waved generously. “But you’ll have enough time to think about it.” She wrapped her arms around Boomer’s shoulders and added teasingly. “And I’ll do my best to make you more… perceptive to the idea.”


	12. The Ties That Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events discussed in this chapter happened in the Star Trek episode “The Gamesters of Triskelion”. The interpretation of said events is strictly mine – I don’t buy the happy assumption that nothing bad happened there. I’m not a fan of Captain Kirk – this is how I see him, and not one of the original episodes or the movies made me change my opinion about him. You are free to disagree, of course.
> 
> The culture and ceremonies of Uhura’s tribe are completely made up by me. There are no canon or historical facts to support my theories. Mr. Singh, the Hindu engineer, is a canon character, however, and will have bigger parts in one of the upcoming stories. _Amuntu_ means friend, or so I hope.
> 
>  **Warning:** mentioning of rape and abortion. I know these are sensitive topics, so this is the chance for anyone disturbed by such things to leave.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 14: The Ties That Bind**

Boomer was dreaming. The dream wasn’t new; it had come to him time and again aboard the _Galactica_ , way before they’d got themselves into this far-away corner of the universe. And it happened always in the same manner, with the implacable reliability of dreams. 

He was standing under the russet sky of Libra, just outside a small village, the rounded, dome-like wattle houses of which barely rose from the man-high, grey-green elephantine grass. Awake, he often asked himself whether such villages still existed on Libra, or if the collective memory of his father’s people haunted his dreams. In the few times he had got to visit the planet, he’d never seen anything similar.

Nevertheless, this was where the dream always took place; the scarlet sky, the wide, lonely hills and the small village, hiding in the tall grass almost invisibly. There was a narrow, packed soil path cut into the grass, and on this path an enchanting young girl approached him, barefooted, with yellow flowers in her short-cropped, curly black hair. Her only cover was a brightly patterned cloth wrapped around her hips, her bare upper torso was gleaming in the red light of the setting sun like a polished ebony statue, her small breasts trembled slightly in the rhythm of her light, dance-like steps. He could make out all the tiny details – only her face, _that_ he could never see it. And when he extended his hand to touch her, she faded away from his touch and he woke up from his dream covered with sweat and with a pounding heart. 

Just like this time.

This time, however, he didn’t wake up on the narrow, uncomfortable cot of the _Galactica_ ’s sleeping quarters, where one barely had enough room to turn around under the silver-grey thermo-blankets, He was lying in a low, broad bed that could have been enough for three people… and he wasn’t alone. The girl from his dreams was resting on his side, her dreaming face calm, mysterious and glowing with happiness, her smooth, dark body gleaming softly in the almost complete darkness of the room. 

Boomer reached out, hesitating, as if afraid that she would fade into nothingness under his touch again, and only when he felt the warmth of her body under his fingers could he truly believe that this wasn’t another dream that would disappear in the last moment but honest, down-to-earth reality. Careful not to wake her, he pulled the homespun blanket up over her naked shoulder, then he eased back to her side and closed his eyes in relief. From now on he didn’t have to fear that she’d disappear by the morning.

Charlene Masters did wake up from Boomer’s touch but she didn’t want to give any sign of it; as if she’d had spied on some well-guarded secret of his, unpermitted. She only opened her eyes when the young man had become quiet again, to take a look of him in his sleep. Boomer had the muscular arms and the broad chest of a professional wrestler; flying a Viper required, aside from skills and technical knowledge, quite an amount of physical strength, due to the G-forces by catapult starts and the endless hours spent in pressure suits. The female pilots of the _Galactica_ must have been made of duranium steel, Masters thought, to bear the strain.

Whims of genetics had shaped Boomer’s face too rugged to be called really handsome, but Charlene didn’t mind it. On the contrary, she found the strange mix of rugged looks and mild manners particularly attractive, and what she’d learned about Boomer, thanks to Uhura, confirmed her first impression of an intelligent, reliable young man. The perils and sufferings Boomer had to go through from early childhood on had drawn deep lines around the corners of his mouth, giving his sleeping face a sad, almost tragic expression that awakened a deep, nearly helpless love in Charlene. She wanted to take him in her arms like she would embrace a child; to whisper soft words of comfort into his ear, to promise him that everything will be fine now, that he won’t be left alone anymore – that she wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to hurt him.

Of course this was something no one could promise another person, which Charlene Masters knew all too well. Her chest tightened from the thought that in a short time Boomer would climb into the cockpit of his Viper again, to face death in space as he had done uncounted times in his young life, and she, Charlene, wouldn’t be able to do anything to ensure his safe return. Nothing, aside from waiting for him in tormented love and hoping desperately that he won’t fall victim to the laser cannons of a Cylon raider. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The next few days until the estimated arrival of the Cylons seemed to fly away for Boomer. If he could, he would have never risen from Charlene’s arms, but that wasn’t an option, of course. Mr Scott and his engineers had tractored Colonel Tigh’s little destroyer, the _Antares_ , to the shuttle bay, and the technicians worked on it around the clock, in order to give it at least minimal warp speed. Which was necessary for the _Antares_ to lead the squadron of Tennet 5 hunters. As the best dilithium specialist available, Lieutenant Masters had much to do with the small ship, and Boomer had joined her to put his own considerable technical skills to use.

“Warp 3 is all I can get out of this little box, Colonel,” the broad-shouldered Scotsman apologized. “She’s a pretty little boat, but she wasn’t constructed to travel with overlight speed.”

“I’m painfully aware of that,” Tigh, currently wearing the red coverall of the _Enterprise_ ’s engineering department, slid out from the electronic intestines of the _Antares_ with the help of a gliding board under his back. “What I’m truly after is a moment of surprise. Cylons cannot travel with overlight speed, either.”

“Oh, I can give you your moment of surprise all right,” Nahar Singh, a highly skilled engineer with the appearance of a bronze statue of some ancient Hindu god, grinned at him. “The lovely little phaser cannon, with which we’ve replaced the old laser turret, has got an impressive punch. And we gave you a torpedo launcher, too.”

“Let’s just hope the ship can take it,” Masters grumbled, re-checking the makeshift drive with her special tricorder. “Should the calibration of the dilithium crystals have as much as the slightest divergence, the entire tin can would fall apart as soon as we’ve fired the cannon for the first time.”

“Lassie,” Montgomery Scott looked at the young scientist in the patient manner of a loving uncle, “since when don’t you trust my abilities to work miracles?”

“Since I’m having the impression that you’re over-straining your luck,” Masters didn’t seem bothered by the addressing, which surprised Boomer a little; she must have liked the chief engineer very much. “The problem is, Scotty, that I’m gonna fly with this tin box, and it wouldn’t be amusing to die an untimely death, just because one of your miracles wouldn’t work. Granted, that’d be a first, but we all know that there’s a first time for everything.”

“Not for _my_ miracles, Lieutenant,” the Scotsman shook his head, smiling. “ _They_ always work. You can bet your… assets on it.”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Masters riposted; then she stood on tiptoes and leaning over to the big Scotsman, she kissed him on one ruddy cheek. “If I didn’t trust your miraculous hands, Scotty, no power in his universe would get me into that nutshell, and you know that all too well, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Scott was practically radiating amiable self-complacence. “You’re a great lass, Charlie. Spock must have been temporarily insane when he granted you transfer to my department. He’s certainly regretted it many times, but now it’s too late for him. I won’t let you get back to Sciences for the world, and that’s a fact.”

“It’s good to know that at least _some_ senior officers are able to value talent and efficiency,” Masters finished the recheck of the recheck and stowed the tricorder into her toolkit. “I wouldn’t leave Engineering, either. Not as long as you’re the boss, that is.”

“It’s decidedly unfair,” Uhura commented, working on something very small and delicate on the subspace radio console. “Since Engineering offers more chances for specialization, Scotty gets all the good technicians. And people with promising First Contact abilities want to become commanding officers at all costs, so they won’t come to my section, either.”

“What about you?” Scott teased her. “Don’t _you_ want your own command?”

Uhura put away the microelectronic equivalent of a screwdriver and gave him a long, meaningful look.

“You know very well what I wanted to become, Scotty. I just didn’t have as much luck as you did. My position got already deleted in the initial stages.”

“You’ve been very bitter lately, lassie,” the Scotsman remarked with friendly disapproval. “Have you gotten the space-weariness or what?”

“No, my friend,” Uhura replied calmly and closed the top of the comm console. “I’ve just lost my trust in my commanding officers. And that is, as generally known, bad for morale.”

“I assume that has got somethin' to do with Triskelion,” the Scotsman said slowly.

“That is correct,” Uhura stood and dusted her coverall. “Charlie, I’ll be expecting you and Captain Boomer in my quarters, as agreed, at 1900 hours.”

“Right, _amuntu_ ,” Masters smiled. “Do you need any help with the preparations?”

“Not really,” Uhura slung the strap of her toolkit over her shoulder. “I’ve lain out the ceremonial robes for you and ordered the meal. Everything should be running smoothly.”

“All right. I’ll come half an hour earlier, then, to help you getting dressed.”

“That’d be nice… and it would save me a lot of time,” Uhura waved to everyone and left, taking Tigh with her.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“What’s being planned?” Boomer inquired, when they were left alone in the shuttle bay.

“A short bonding ceremony called the _mesq_ ,” Masters replied, collecting her tools. “It’s some sort of… engagement, for twelve standard months.”

“Between _Siress_ Uhura and Colonel Tigh?

“Who else? If the _mesq_ turns out satisfactory, they might get married later.”

“So, it is kind of a… marriage test?”

“Not directly. Uhura’s people know several very different sorts of bonding. The actual goal of the _mesq_ is that two people in love can find out which sort of bonding would match their personalities, their relationship, the best. It can also show, however, that in the long run they wouldn’t be a good match. In that case they go their separate ways after the _mesq_ has run out, in mutual agreement and with the blessing of the Elders, and seek out new partners.”

“And what is our role in this?”

“We are witnesses that the _mesq_ has officially begun. Usually, such a ritual is celebrated in the presence of the entire clan and takes place closed to the public. Space travel tends to complicate things a little, though.”

“That’s certainly true,” Boomer take from her the heavy toolkit. “Tell me, what are these constant hints to Triskelion? It seems to me that _Siress_ Uhura must have endured something really bad there. But nobody seems to know what really happened.”

“Some do,” Masters entered her quarters and gestured him to follow her. “However, only two people on the entire ship are informed – I’m one of those.”

“Who else?”

“Chris Chapel. But she’s bound by medical confidentiality.”

“You, on the other hand, aren’t”

“You’re right. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’d talk about it, not even with you. Uhura is more than simply a friend for me... she’s always been like an older sister. I’d never misuse her trust.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Returning to Uhura’s quarters, Tigh asked her the same question.

“Triskelion was a slave planet,” Uhura peeled off her coverall and threw it into the refresher unit. “The captain, Chekov and I were abducted directly from our transporter beam. We were brought to this planet and held captive in some sort of arena. Our only purpose there was to entertain the inhabitants of that planet – bored entities reduced to mere brains – with gladiator fights. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

“How did you manage to escape?” Tigh inquired.

“As usual, the captain relied on his charms and wrapped his pretty female trainer around his pinkie finger,” Uhura shrugged. “After that, he bluffed the Providers to let not only us but also the other slaves go. Poor Chekov was less fortunate, of course, and had to try very hard to keep his own drill _thrall_ , an oversized, hideous female monster, at arm’s length. She was… interested in him, to put it mildly.”

“And what happened to you?” Tigh asked, feeling that the worst part was just about to come.

“I was repeatedly raped by my drill _thrall_ , a six feet, three hundred pounds, barely humanoid… animal,” Uhura replied dryly, curling up in her armchair, as if the softness of Deltan napa leather could have made her forget the rough touch of her former jailor. “Understandably, everyone was so worried about the captain that nobody wasted a thought for what might have happened to me… well, nobody aside from Chris and Charlie. Not even Spock, who occasionally declares to be my friend. Why should they have, really? I’m just a woman, after all. Things like that happen to women, if they have bad luck. Even in the 23rd century.”

“How come that medical didn’t show anything?” Tigh asked in surprise - after a long, shaken silence, when he dared to speak again. 

Uhura glared daggers at him.

“Do you really think that after all that I’d allow Dr McCoy to examine me? Or another male doctor? I didn’t set foot in Sickbay until Dr M’Benga came aboard. Chris helped me to secretly terminate the pregnancy, although she could have lost her job for that. She’s not a medical doctor; she’s not allowed to perform such operations alone.”

“ _Terminate_... the pregnancy?“

“Yes, I had this… appalling little creature killed.”

“ _You_? Somehow, I can’t imagine you doing that.“

“Nevertheless, that’s what I’ve done,” Uhura’s eyes were burning, whether with anger or with unshed tears it was hard to tell. “I’m a murderer, yes. But I haven’t asked to be made pregnant by a barely humanoid… monster. He was worse than a wild animal,” she turned away, not able to see the compassion on Tigh’s face. “The door isn’t locked,” she added in a toneless voice. “It’s still not too late for you to go. We aren’t bound to each other yet.”

“Oh yes, we are – from the moment on in which you set foot onto the _Galactica_ ’s bridge,” Tigh walked around the armchair and knelt in front of her. “Besides, I do believe that you only did what you had to do – even if it was very painful for you. For nothing in the Twelve Worlds would I ever leave you.”

“You don’t understand,” Uhura murmured, near to despair. “According to our beliefs life, _every_ kind of life, is sacrosanct, regardless of the circumstances under which it had been created. What I did is considered a major crime among my people. An _Old Family_ like mine is supposed to cast out a daughter who had her unborn child killed, forever.”

“Have your people done that?” Tigh asked quietly. 

Uhura shook her head. “They have been generous… to an extent that bordered sacrilege. During my last home leave, the Mothers made me undergo a strict penitential ritual, and finally they granted me forgiveness – actually, they shouldn’t have done that, it has never been done before. But I’m not allowed to enter the hidden temple as long as I’m still an empty grave.”

Tigh frowned for a moment. The colourful expressions Uhura had used were, fortunately, similar to the ritual Libran speech, so he got the hint relatively easily.

“You mean, not before you are with child again, right?” he asked.

“Basically, yes,” Uhura replied. “Are you upset now? Or do you think I’ve used you to be allowed to go home again?”

Tigh smiled. “Why should I? If you only wanted to get pregnant again, you’d have found a suitable partner long ago. Am I right to assume that you’ve already tried?”

“Dr M’Benga offered me his services for the feast of the _Soaring_ more than two years ago,” Uhura admitted, “but I did not catch… and we had no personal interest in each other.”

Tigh’s smile broadened a little. The springtime fertility rites Uhura had mentioned hadn’t got completely forgotten on his homeworld either, although only the very old-fashioned clans followed them still to the letter.

“As for me,” he said, lightly teasing, “I have the audacity to assume that you chose me because you’ve taken a liking to me.”

“Oh, yes,” Uhura slid down to him to the floor and gave him a long, lingering kiss, “I have indeed.”

“Good,” Tigh kissed her back. “In that case, we should close this chapter and turn our attention to the future.”

“You are absolutely right,” Uhura let go of him with a certain amount of reluctance. “And we should hurry up, or else we’d be too late.”

“What’s expected of me?” Tigh inquired. 

Uhura smiled. “Relax. Bonding rituals like the _mesq_ should be performed in a state of inner peace. All we need to do is to wash ourselves and get dressed. Since there’s no chance to do proper ritual washings on a starship, the shower will have to do. I’ve already laid out the ceremonial robes in your quarters. Please join me again, as soon as you are ready.”

“Will we have to keep this formality all the time?” Tigh asked. 

Uhura shook her head. “Not after the ritual. After that, you’ll be one of us. Be gone now, you’re distracting me!” 

She laughed and pushed him towards the door but couldn’t restrain herself from moulding against him for a last kiss right on the threshold. Tigh reacted to her with his usual intensity, and Uhura felt as if she would burn up under his touch.

“May I come in?” Lieutenant Masters asked calmly.

Uhura snapped out of her haze. Masters was already standing inside the door, balancing a tabletop-sized, isolated tray in both hands. They had not heard the doorbell; or her entering.

“I’d have been willing to wait a little longer, but this festive meal weights a ton,” Masters continued, completely unfazed, and waltzed in, without waiting for an invitation, placing the tray on the table of the living-room. “Besides, I had the faint suspicion that you two would have been… otherwise occupied. Are you going to prepare yourselves for your ceremony now or should we wait for Dr M’Benga to separate you surgically? He’s on his way already.”

“I’m gone, I’m gone,” Tigh laughed. He let go of Uhura reluctantly, and then he left indeed.

“Boomer’s coming in half an hour and brings Mohammed Jahma from Security with him,” Masters told her friend. “I entrusted the palm wine to him. I hope it wasn’t a mistake.”

They both laughed. Then Masters took both the older woman’s hands in hers and asked quietly, “Are you really all right, _amuntu_? Are you sure that you’ve come far enough to be able to trust a man again? I mean… the ritual with Ben was a different matter entirely. _This_ is serious, isn’t it?”

Uhura nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes, little one, I think so. I… I’ve told him everything, just a few minutes ago. I think we’ll be all right now.”

“That’s good,” Masters said. “I’ve wished it for you to find a new love for a long time. And what Boomer tells me about the colonel makes me think that the two of you were made for each other.”

“I’ve got the same impression,” Uhura smiled. “You know how much Oulu meant to me, but now… now it seems to me as if I’ve waited for Tigh all my life. What about you and Captain Boomer? How are things going between the two of you?”

“Better than I’ve hoped,” Masters admitted. “I never thought that anyone would be capable of such… devotion. I mean, my reasons to choose him were rather sober, but now that I know him better… I’m afraid that sooner or later, I’ll fall in love.”

“He’s nice,” Uhura agreed, “and he seems to have a good character. Above that, he’s rather good-looking, too; that’s a rare combination. Consider him a gift.”

“He’s that and many other things,” Masters said with a fond smile.

“Do you intend to make your relationship permanent?” Uhura asked. 

Masters shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends on many factors I can’t really influence. Will we survive the upcoming battle? Where will the Federation settle his people? Will he go with them or come to us? Will I be able to follow him, should he choose his people? I just don’t know. We’ve just met, after all.”

“I understand,” Uhura touched the face of her friend with the ancient, ritual gesture of blessing. “I have to struggle with the same questions. At any case, this won’t be an easy decision… for any of us. Although I sometimes doubt that Tigh would want to stay with his people.”

“Really?” Masters’ interest wasn’t entirely selfless, but who could blame her under the circumstances.

“I’m not sure,” Uhura said thoughtfully. “You know how unjustly he was treated by the _Quorum of Twelve_. And his Fleet won’t need him as desperately in the future as it has before.”

“Boomer thinks the Libran councilman has selected the colonel as his successor,” Masters mentioned. 

Uhura nodded. “I’ve heard that, too.”

“And you think he won’t accept the office?” Masters asked, having her personal interest in the issue.

Uhura shrugged. “Since the Elders of Libra put in an official application to be settled in East Africa as a united group, it doesn’t really matter whether he accepts or not.”

“The _entire_ Libran people?” Master was flabbergasted. Boomer had not mentioned that. But maybe he didn’t know it, either.

“More or less,” Uhura stepped into the shower, but her voice remained well audible above the rush of the water. “ _Sire_ Aslan, the leader of the Elders, thinks they won’t be capable of settling on a planet, at least not yet. He and a few others have addressed the problem to me aboard the _Galactica_ , and I offered my services as a mediator.”

“Which means… what exactly?”

“The governing council will discuss the application during the next big gathering, but I’m certain that they will approve. Librans are doubtlessly related to us, although distantly enough to enrich our gene pool sufficiently.”

“Are you going to have enough room for an entire people?”

“Since many Africans chose to migrate to distant colonies, there are a few abandoned villages in our territory. Our brothers and sisters from the stars are welcome among us. There aren’t many of them left anyway… which is a great pity.”

“You do have quite the influence on these things, don’t you?” Masters asked.

Uhura, wrapped into a fluffy white robe, returned to the bedroom. “My sister Kamala stands in for me in the governing council. But in this case, she’ll ask for my advice. The vote of the Eldest Mothers of Munguroo has great weight in such decisions.”

She discarded her robe and started to wrap the soft folds of the gold-embroidered scarlet sari around herself with practiced ease. Masters, wearing similar yet less expensive clothing, helped her to order her hair into thin braids, then pinning the braids high on her head and decorating them with small golden bells.

“Does that mean the Librans won’t claim a planet for themselves?” she asked in surprise. “That’s… unexpected from such a proud and independent folk.”

“I can’t tell what Librans would demand for themselves,” Uhura replied, “and I don’t think Tigh has any idea, either. What he _did_ say, was that a small group of scientists and technicians should first prepare whichever planet might be selected for them, before they start settling there with the old people, the women and the children. Assuming, of course, the other tribes would grant a handful of survivors the right for a planet of their own.”

“Your people are willing to help them with the settling, though,” Masters said. It was not a question.

“ _I’ll_ do everything in my power to see that happen,” Uhura agreed. “And under the circumstances I happen to be able to do a lot.”

They laughed. Masters finished her friend’s hair, and Uhura cast a critical look at the mirror. She found everything all right, of course – Charlene Masters was renowned of her thoroughness.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

As if on clue, the doorbell rang again. Boomer arrived, flanked by Tigh and two Starfleet offices, who – being Africans themselves – had been invited to witness the ceremony. Dr M’Benga, McCoy’s first assistant, wore a long, sand-coloured, richly embroidered robe, as his people did at festive occasions. Mohammed Jahma, one of the _Enterprise_ ’s security guards wore the pink _boubou_ that had been popular among the rich merchant families in Niger for centuries, and a decoratively stitched round cap.

They offered a rather anachronistic view aboard a high-tech starship of the 23rd century, but nobody cared about that. The United States of Africa had made heroic efforts during the recent two hundred years to save what was still left from the ancient culture of their peoples, and the efforts started to pay off in the long run. A lot more people asked to be initiated to the old rites and customs than, for example, in the early 21st century, when it seemed that the wisdom of the Elders would vanish from the black continent without a trace. Many a son or daughter whose ancestors had left, forcibly or voluntarily, returned to the land of their origins to find their roots.

For many of them, it wasn’t a question of beliefs but one of cultural identity. Mohammed Jahma, for example, was a Muslim, like the majority of the Nigerian _Hausa_ , and yet he did he respect the old rites and customs. M’Benga, on the other hand, belonged to a revived and reformed African cult similar to that of Uhura’s tribe, thus his presence was even more important – and necessary for the planned ceremony.

The _mesq_ itself wasn’t a complicated rite. The parties officially announced that they would share their hearth for a full period (which, for some reason, meant thirteen standard months not twelve as Masters had said), after which a dignitary representing of the clan (for whom M’Benga stood in this particular case) performed the hand-binding ritual, and the ceremony ended with a feast. Instead of the entire clan, this time the guests served as witnesses.

After that, the guests left the now officially bonded couple alone, and Uhura and Tigh, now that the waiting was over, looked at each other a little awkwardly.

“What’s wrong?” Tigh finally asked. “Are you having second thoughts about it? Whether we’ve done the right thing?”

Uhura sighed. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I could barely wait for this moment to come, and now that it’s arrived, I’m frightened.”

“Frightened?” Tigh repeated in surprise. “What of?“

“That I might not be what you’ve wished for, after all,” Uhura admitted with an embarrassed smile. “I know it’s silly…”

Tigh shook his head earnestly. “No, it’s not. Do you think _I’m_ not frightened? Not afraid that I cannot make you happy, that you’ll come to the realization that you’d deserve something better?”

“I cannot imagine anyone better suited for me,” she replied seriously. “If you still have doubts, however, there is a way to find out if we really suit each other or not…”

Tigh got the hint – and burst out in laughter. “That’s right. And we’ve waited long enough for this chance to find it out, haven’t we?”

Uhura, however, did not laugh.

“Long indeed,” she replied, still very serious. “Almost too long, I’m afraid. Let us not waste any more time.”

“That would be… unforgivable,” Tigh agreed with a slight smile. “I’d have one last request, though, before we… start that particular sort of research.”

Uhura arched a questioning eyebrow. “A request? Sounds intriguing.”

Tigh took off an ancient-looking silver signet ring from his pinkie finger. “As you already know, my mother descended from the priest caste. As she had no daughter, I’ve inherited this ring from her, even though I’m not entitled to wear it.”

“Why not?”

“The ring used to be a symbol of her office. She served in the New Temple of Libra as a singer. As far as I know the Old Faith has only survived in a single place: among your people. I’d like you to wear this ring.”

“I’m not a priestess, though,” Uhura reminded him.

“It doesn’t matter what the office is called among your folk,” Tigh replied gravely. “Right now, you are the only one truly entitled to wear the ring. Our priest class has become extinct. My mother was one of the last ones, and nobody came after her.”

“Why is this so important for you?” Uhura wondered. “You always declare yourself an agnostic.”

“I used to be one, until we discovered that we not only share the same blood but also the same faith,” he replied quietly. “To a certain extent, I’m still a heretic and will probably always remain one. But it would mean a great deal for my people. It would show them that they’re not alone, even though the Fates weren’t too kind to us. To know that we’ve got relatives on Earth would give my people new strength and new hope. Would you do this for us, please? For the others, who’ve very nearly lost all hope?”

Uhura smiled and reached out her hand to him, so that he could put the ring on her finger. “There aren’t many things I wouldn’t do for you, Tigh.”

“Imaro,” the man corrected quietly.

Uhura looked at him with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“Imaro is my _dream-name_ ; the name I was given in the New Temple, after I’d performed the ceremony of ritual dreaming in the sanctum,” Tigh explained. “The priestesses interpreted my dreams afterwards and gave me this temple name. There are very few people who know it: Sire Solon and his family, since he’s the brother of my late wife, a friend who’s now dead… and you.”

“I’m… honoured.”

“No need for that, heart of flame. It’s our custom that spouses have no secrets kept from each other.”

“Are you allowed to tell me the meaning of that name?”

“Well, ummm…” Tigh was very obviously embarrassed, “it means more or less ‘he-who-is-loved’.”

Uhura laughed in delight. “Do you find it embarrassing?”

“A little, yeah…” Tigh’s skin was too dark to blush visibly, but he cringed in a most endearing way. Uhura laughed again.

“In that case I’ll have to give you solid proof of what a rightfully worn name it is,” she said with a look that could have melted the polar caps of Earth.


	13. The Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the description of the Cylons I follow the original concept that would have made them lizard-like reptiloids in armour, rather than mere robots. That concept is described in much greater detail in Glen A. Larsen’s novelizations to the pilot and “The Lost Planet of the Gods”. I have added the one or another twist, though.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 12: The Enemy**

Contrary to the hectic activity aboard the ships of the united Colonial and Federation forces, especially aboard the _Galactica_ , which had been selected as their flagship for the duration of the battle aforehead, on the Cylon side everything – and everyone – was eerily calm, as always. Opposite the eternal chaos represented by humans, the Cylon Empire represented order. Structure. A purpose higher than the fleeting existence of the individuals. And the supreme commander of the Cylons, whose name – or title, as the two had been the same for a time barely comprehensible for mere humans – could probably have been translated to Standard as “Imperious Leader”, was the physical manifestation of that order. An order that would, soon, integrate this particular corner of the universe, currently infested with the chaotic disorder called mankind, into its great and sacred structure.

Now that the end of the long struggle for reinstating order was in sight and the final moment of clarity had arrived, Imperious Leader forced himself to submerge into a calm state of meditative relaxation. This was his way to maintain complete surveillance of his meticulously planned battle strategy. Usually. For right now, not even he had the choice to plan in advance. Too many unforeseen factors had already entered this particular game, and he needed to focus on what had to be done, combining the unknown factors with the known ones and trying to measure up his new adversary in the short time available.

Sitting in the geometric centre of his flagship, a huge vessel of the same circular design as all other Cylon baseships – as it would have been strategically disadvantageous to reveal aboard from which the Cylon attacks were coordinated – he reflected upon the most recent events. He was _not_ happy with them. Crossing the anomaly, although it had been necessary, of course, had taken this war out of balance. Up until that move, he had been the one to “pull the strings”, as humans would ridiculously say. He had directed the actions, and all the humans had been able to do was to react.

But after they had entered this knew and unknown sector of the universe, things had changed. The ability to make the first move had been somehow transferred to the humans, and the Cylons were forced to react. This was _not_ how things were supposed to proceed. Of course, in the end the invictible Cylon armada would still exterminate the human plague, but Imperious Leader found the undignified and disorganized way it was happening insulting his sense of proper order.

At least that would be over, soon. All he needed was to focus and direct his forces simultaneously. Finally, he would fulfil a legacy several of his predecessors failed to fulfil – to free the universe from chaos.

His command centre was a huge, circular chamber in the exact middle of the ship, the huge discus-shaped halves of it tapered down to the diameter of this same chamber through several deck levels that looked like dark, webbed metal. Even in his high seat, he could feel the throbbing energy that fuelled the ship in his very bones. Emanating from the nether point right below his command centre, the highly volatile liquid _thylium_ was mixed with neutralizing fuels and forced into the complex network of powerful generators, making the impression of revolving pinwheels; an impression that was, of course, entirely false. Cylon technology was far superior to that of the Colonies. Still, the few humans who ever had the chance to take a closer look at the intimidating Cylon baseships (or _basestars_ as they called these vessels) and lived to tell the tale, had disrespectfully called them spinning tops.

There was something profoundly insulting in the humans’ lack of respect towards superiority.

Imperious Leader was seated on a high, cone-shaped pedestal above the officers who maintained the communications and weapons consoles. The sides of this rotating pedestal were marked with hundreds of sharp-edged and barbed points that sent off sporadic gleams in the shifting light of the immense chamber, reflecting from the silver armour of the executive officers.

Unlike them, Imperious Leader wore no armour; just a long robe, whose wide hood usually hid his head even from his subjects. Not at the moment, though. Now he was wearing a helmet – some sort of webbed metallic mesh that looked like a tiara but was, in fact, the equivalent of the extensive communications panels on a starship. But while human-made informational units were spread across one side of a starship’s bridge, his helmet contained all necessary parts in miniature. With it he could keep track of all phases of any given battle simultaneously.

At the same time, the helmet was feeding him all crucial pieces of information he could use for the necessary – and effective – improvisations built on his basic strategy. The executive officers circling the pedestal filtered the incoming information and dispatched the relevant data to his helmet in the form of invisible beams. The same officers were also in helmet contact with each other; although, of course, their helmets were a great deal less sophisticated – but good enough for them to filter out all unnecessary bits of information and only forward to their leader that which was really needed. Had these transmission beams been visible, it would have made the operations centre of the flagship like a highly intricate spider’s web, with multicoloured lights criss-crossing in its vast, empty space.

But as they were not, the dimly lit room showed no visible activity at all. All the casual viewer would have seen were unmoving figures cemented in sitting and standing position with rigid serenity, as if they had been frozen in time. The true activity, that which would decide the final outcome of the battle ahead of them, was performed in the inside of the highly sophisticated, artificial Cylon brains.

In plural. For no high-ranking Cylon could have functioned with only one brain. The demands from a Cylon leader, regardless of his position in the chain of command, were very high indeed. In his third-brain, the one that monitored the functioning of his other two brains, Imperious Leader allowed himself a moment of deep satisfaction, even though he knew it was dangerous to allow himself this sort of distraction. But he could not help himself. His entire life, all his numerous efforts had been pointed towards this moment: when the human plague, the most grave danger for the perfect unity of the universe the Cylons had ever met, will be crushed forever.

Thinking about himself as a male entity was actually a sign that he had studied the illogical thinking patterns of his enemy for too long. Humans tended to associate leadership with the male gender, despite any contrary evidence. Cylon warriors had no gender. In fact, only a tiny fraction of the immense Cylon population did. Gender specifications developed by Cylons at a later age, an age that was the rough equivalent of human puberty – at a time when all promising candidates for a military career had already been selected and removed from the care of their biological parents. Their superior genetic material was sampled and added artificially to the fertilized eggs in the huge breeding farms on the homeworld, so that more superior individuals could be born.

Imperious Leader had been born at a time when the war had already been going on, in human measurement, for about seven hundred _yahrens_. Preliminary scans had certified the hatchling’s promising qualities, thus he had been removed for cybernetic enhancements right after birth. Shortly before he’d have reached the age at which the gender specifications would have developed, his rudimentary, biological brain had been replaced with an artificial first-brain, at the proper ceremony marking his passing from childhood to maturity. The first-brain then had trained and educated him in his early years as a foot soldier, as this was the work assigned to him at the maturity ceremony.

First-brains were the basic guidance system of both the Cylon citizen and warrior. Every Cylon had them, save those unworthy ones who had been selected for breeding purposes, as their inferior abilities did not enable them for anything better. First-brain individuals were assigned to activities based on perceptions related to information gathering and efficient performance. Consequently, only the simple interpretive powers were implanted in a first-brain. Childhood achievements qualified the individual either for the job of a scientist and mechanic (which was basically the same in Cylon culture) or that of a warrior. Citizens did not have many choices to rise in ranks, despite their usefulness. Warriors had the way open before them, up to the high chair of the Imperious Leader.

The individual currently wearing the title had quickly ascended from being a simple foot soldier to fighting pilot status and won the name that would have been (loosely) translated into Standard as “Best of the Best”. As a result of his mastery of warfare techniques, he had been awarded his second-brain much earlier than his peers.

This was a huge step forward, granted to officers only, as it gave them all the specific abilities necessary for fulfilling their duties; first of all the gift of analysing and interpreting information. To rose to the level of executive officer, the second-brain needed to operate in conjunction with the first-brain integrally, which was by no means a given. Many a promising officer had to be selected out because they were unable to bring their brains in synch; others have simply rejected the second-brain, either right at the implantation or later. He who was to become Imperious Leader had no such problems, and thus he had become one of the youngest executive officers in the history of his race.

Had he removed his helmet to sweep the large chamber with his multiple eyes, he would be brought back to the past, when _he_ had been one of the faithful and efficient executive officers, working tirelessly to interpret and filter the incoming data storm for previous Imperious Leaders.

Following ancient tradition, each Imperious Leader held power for a limited period of time. In human standard, it would be about three-quarters of a century. Cylons, however, used no such constricting measurements of linear time. For them, time existed in repeated circles, moving in an upward spiral to the final goal of their existence: the ultimate order of the universe – the Cosmos, as opposed to the Chaos, represented by humans and other similar creatures.

When his cycle was fulfilled, each Imperious Leader ordered the selection of his successor. The choice was his and his alone, and whomever he had chosen, the other Cylon executive officers accepted it without a grumble. The thought to grumble didn’t even occur to any of them. There was no room for aspiration to power in Cylon society. Officers, pilots, foot soldiers, citizens and subjects selected for breeding – all believed that the decisions of their superiors, regardless of the position these held in the strict social hierarchy, originated in the master plan known only to the Imperious Leader. A plan that had existed since the awakening of their race and would be fulfilled when the order of the universe had been reinstated.

This belief was unshakeable. There was no room for doubt, as only Cylons with a third-brain – meaning the Imperious Leaders, current and previous ones – were in possession of all information. Without information, there could be no second-guessing and no doubt. That was why Cylon society had worked so flawlessly during its whole existence.

As in all his previous achievements, the current Imperious Leader had been selected considerably earlier for the office than all his predecessors. The awarding of leadership was usually handed down in the order of seniority, to the executive officer with the most command experience. Although the current Imperious Leader had served long and well by then already, under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have been eligible until the next time of selection. He was admittedly a little surprised – a rare sensation for a Cylon officer. But like all his fellow Cylons, he had the unshakeable belief in the ultimate wisdom of his leaders, and thus he accepted the awarding of the third-brain with the same stoic obedience with which he would have accepted death in battle, for the good of the Empire.

When his third-brain had been implanted, however, he reached the level of enlightenment only third-brain holders could reach. There were very few of those, at any given time – former Imperious Leaders, who had not yet selected their time of death but chosen to support their successors for a while, communicating among each other through the telepathic network connecting all third-brain holders. This network gave them the capacity of limitless wisdom. Or that was the Cylon belief, anyway.

Receiving a third-brain meant a completely new quality for a Cylon’s existence. The second-brain already allowed a considerable amount of understanding of the events themselves, the reasons that caused said events to happen and the ways they had happened, but only the third-brain allowed the individual to free himself from the constriction of mere facts, to rise about the limitations of personal interpretations and ideas. The third-brain connected the vast amount of information stored in the first-brain with the second-brain interpretations of the same information – and it gave access to a vast accumulation of knowledge that reached back in time very nearly to the awakening of the Cylon race. 

The fact was that not every Cylon could accept the third-brain. Rejection rate was alarmingly high – only a small percentage was born (well, _hatched_ , to be more accurate) with third-brain compatibility. These few individuals were, as a rule, selected out through tests at the implanting of the first-brain. From that moment on, the candidates were kept under constant surveillance during the following years. The failing rate, once again, was high. The same character traits that made an individual capable of accepting a third-brain also often made them mentally instable – no one knew why. What was more, those candidates also tended to take high risks in battle and were often killed as a result. From any given brood in a period, there seldom were more than five or six survivors eligible for third-brain implantation when they had finally risen high enough in service to be considered.

The final selection was made with great care, in cooperation between the retreating Imperious Leader and all his predecessors who were still alive, supported by analysises based upon memories of dead Leaders whose brains were preserved in the historical tanks. When the newly selected Leader awakened from the third-brain implantation, he could already dispose over the entire history and accumulated knowledge of the Cylon race. It was as close to omniscience as it could get for a mortal being.

This was the knowledge he could related on now, as he reviewed the progress of his meticulously designed battle plan against the human fleet – a transitory plan, the singular goal of which was to serve the purpose of the one and only master plan that was about to commence. He had nearly reached that long-desired goal. The humans would be annihilated, and this very act would assure Imperious Leader’s place in Cylon history. He’d be able to hand over leadership to a carefully selected successor, knowing that he would keep his influence, even in voluntary stasis.

His flagship now approached the rim of the mysterious anomaly, through which the humans had foolishly tried to flee. Well, had they managed to survive the transit at all, they would be easy target for the massive forces under his command. And when they had crushed those rag-tag ships that were barely able to travel through deep space like a nutshell, he could concentrate his attention on the pleasure of destroying his ultimate human enemy – Adama.

The strange thing with dealing strategically with this particular enemy was that it had forced him to try thinking like a human being. In order to always be one move before the humans in battle made it necessary to use a part of his massive third-brain for the contemplation of human ideas. His predecessor had warned him about this necessity, and he had accepted it long ago, but it still disgusted him beyond measure – even though the ability to copy human thought processes had been invaluable in fighting this stubborn, irrational race. Whenever he had to access the part of his brain that contained the essence of human knowledge, he felt as if he’d been contaminated somehow.

Even now, as the image of the anomaly – the only gateway leading to his main goal – was transmitted to him from several sources, he could not help seeing the coming annihilation of the humans in their own terms. It was most disturbing. As if he had been alienated from his own essence, soiled with the contagious unreason that was the basis of all human philosophies.

Due to their inefficient, illogical single-brain, humans tended to see the universe and the forces that controlled it in the ridiculous terms of good and evil. In simple dichotomies that just did not exist for the Cylons, not even for the mere breeding masses that still eked out their miserable existence with the rudimentary organic brains they had been born with. The limitless dimensions of a third-brain transcended those simple terms so far that a human couldn’t even have perceived them.

Moral considerations were irrelevant to Cylons – to _all_ Cylons. What was essential to them was preserving the sacred, cosmic order of the universe; the order of which they were the relentless guardians. 

Which was the reason why the humans had to be wiped out. Their reckless ways and undisciplined greed to explore areas where their mere presence threatened the cosmic order could only be counteracted by their elimination at Cylon hands. Peace needed to be returned to the universe. The humans’ unfortunate tendency toward independent thought and action would have been harmful enough, even if they hadn’t disturbed with that tendency the inhabitants of worlds whom they visited without invitation. But they _did_ disturb the innocent. They contaminated them. Therefore this threat – the threat of human existence – had to be eliminated.

For humans, _evil_ was a simple equation: some pre-destined malevolence, a few harmful actions, a couple of negative thoughts that didn’t mach a standard that was about to change anyway. The human brain equalled such trivial emotions as weakness and selfishness with malevolence much too easily. The mere fact that in their eyes Imperious Leader was evil, too, proved the absurdity of their point of view quite clearly.

 _Good and evil_! What an inaccurate, illogical and completely irrelevant concept! Envisioning the deaths the upcoming battle would cause, the ships that would be demolished, the worlds that, if necessary, would be reduced to rubble, Imperious Leader understood that from the human viewpoint all of this _necessary_ warfare was evil. The Cylons were evil. _He_ was evil.

He refused to accept the very concept of evil, just as he refused to accept the concept of good. They were not opposites, nor were they mutually exclusive. Splitting the universal order to opposing sites destroyed it basic foundation, just as measuring time in a linear way falsified the true importance of time itself. Good and evil, as humans interpreted it, simply didn’t exist.

All Cylons accepted the consequences of warfare as essential. The warriors neither mourned their own deaths nor felt triumph in killing humans. Both aspects of warfare were simply necessary, and therefore irrelevant. Individual fates were irrelevant. They only existed to serve the master plan, the ultimate goal: the reinstating of cosmic order.

Preparing himself for giving the orders to cross the anomaly, Imperious Leader shut off the area of his third-brain that served to support him with human thinking patterns. In this last, sacred battle he didn’t want his mind to be contaminated by the enemy. He needed to concentrate on his strategy – and on the ultimate goal toward which the upcoming battle pointed.

Two of the executive officers left their stations and strode toward him. Stopping before the pedestal, they formally stated the request to attack. This was a ritual that went back to early Cylon history; to a time when they had barely started to equip themselves with cybernetic aids.

“By your command,” the first officer said.

“Speak,” Imperious Leader answered.

“All base ships are now in attack formation, ready to cross the anomaly,” the second officer reported.

Ritual demanded that the final attack order be given directly. Imperious Leader removed his helmet and stared at his minions, his multiple eyes glowing with a rare moment of elation.

“Yes,” he said, his quiet voice echoing in the huge chamber, “this will be the final annihilation of the alien plague, this troublesome life form known as humans. Let the transit begin.”

The two subordinates made perfunctory bows and returned to their stations. As soon as they regained position and Imperious Leader had put his helmet on again, large apertures had opened all around the main circle of each Cylon baseship. Stingray-shaped raider ships emerged in precise sequence from each aperture and flew to their pre-battle positions, where they formed a twelve-tiered, coruscating wall that, when fully constructed, divided into waves, aiming the exact middle of the anomaly’s raging energy storm – the only place where they could risk the transit – ready to pick up the trail of their enemy and attack, as soon as they had crossed the gateway.


	14. The Great Battle, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a little longer than the average, so I simply divided it in two. And no, I have no idea how Dr Wilker’s virus works. Sorry.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
**Chapter 13: The Great Battle, Part 1**

After performing the _mesq_ rite, a new couple usually spent eight full days in complete isolation. Uhura and Tigh, unfortunately, couldn’t take this time right now. Barely two days after their bonding ceremony, the probes placed at the border of the singularity signalled the arrival of an entire armada. The Cylons have reached the tear in the fabric of the world before it could have closed.

“I don’t ask you _not_ to go,” said Uhura when Tigh, wearing the pressure suit of a colonial pilot, was about to leave her quarters, “but I expect you to be very careful.”

“I’ll do my best,” the colonel promised. “I do have good reason for doing so, after all. A very… personal one.”

Uhura laughed, hiding her pain with great self-discipline. She didn’t want to burden him with her fears; not now when he had to focus his attention on the battle before them.

“Go with my blessing,” she said, “and come back to me, safe and sound. Now, be gone! Don’t make your people wait.”

“You are the strongest, smartest and most wonderful woman I’ve ever met,” Tigh murmured, hugging her tightly for one last time. “I wonder how I was able to live without you so long.”

“You didn’t have any other choice,” Uhura replied soberly. “Now go!”

Tigh obediently left for the shuttle-deck, where his small ship was ready to start. Uhura returned to the bridge. This wasn’t her shift, but now, with the great battle before them, Kirk needed his best, most experienced people around him.

“All phaser cannons are loaded and ready, Captain,” the voice of Angela Martine-Teller, the best phaser technician was sounding through the intercom when Uhura stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge.

“Keep this channel open, all the time. Kirk out. Oh, Uhura,” the captain swivelled around with his chair, “good that you’re already here. I need a conference circuit with all ships, including the _Galactica_.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Uhura took over the comm console from Liv Palmer, her fingers dancing across the keys. “Connection established, Captain.”

“Good. To all ship commandants, this is James T. Kirk from the _Enterprise_. You all have the battle plan filed in your board computers. We’ll stick to that, unless something unexpected happens. In which case you’ll be informed by Fleet Commander Adama, who will be coordinating the attacks from the bridge of the _Galactica_. We’ll keep this conference circuit open during the entire battle. Please use the new codes developed by Lieutenant Uhura. Kirk out.”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
On the shuttle-deck Boomer and Masters were doing the last routine checks. Scotty was standing at the nose of the _Antares_ and scratching the nape of his neck, with a concerned look on his face. 

“I hope everythin' will work out, Colonel,” he said, for the fourth time in ten minutes. “I mean, we’ve checked everythin' twice and thrice, o' course, but we’re just human beings. If somethin' goes wrong…” 

“ _Nothing_ must go wrong,” Tigh replied quietly, with great emphasis. “Our people will need every shard of technology that we can take from the Cylons. I’m not willing to start a new life from a lost position. These basestars are the guarantee for our safety in the future.” 

“You know, o' course, that I’m riskin' me job by helpin' you,” Scotty said glumly. 

Tigh nodded. “I know that, Mr Scott, and I’m extremely grateful for it. I’d have preferred to do these things on the official way, but our _Quorum of Twelve_ isn’t any better than your diplomats. I must make my move during this state of emergency, as it’s highly unlikely that I’d ever hold such a position of power again, not even temporarily.” 

“I understand that,” the chief engineer replied, “although I'm curious how you’ve managed to win Captain Suvuk from the _Intrepid_ for your plan.” 

“That wasn’t me,” Tigh laughed, “that was _Sire_ Solon. He’s a law expert. Apparently, he argued very logically.” 

“He needed to do so if he was negotiatin' with a Vulcan,” Scotty grinned. “But do you have at least the support of Commander Adama?” 

“His and that of two other members of the _Quorum_ ,” Tigh nodded. “And Captain Hunter said the _Aerfen_ would be willing to help us as well.” 

“That’s not a small thing,” Scott meant before turning to Masters. “Are you ready, Charlie?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever bee,” Masters, also wearing a pressure suit, came forth from behind the little ship. “We can start any time you want, Colonel.” 

“Get on your way, then,” Scotty, following the old pilot superstition, patted the side of the ship for good luck. “I’ll be monitorin' the pressure balance.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The _Antares_ took off, leaving the shuttle bay, and aimed towards the _Galactica_ , steered by Tigh’s expert hands. 

“Switch to the special code, Corporal Rigel,” the colonel ordered. 

“Are you sure that the Starfleet ships won’t be able to tap into our communication?” Rigel asked in concern. Tigh shrugged. 

“Uhura did her best; the rest is beyond our control. Give me Doctor Wilker on the _Galactica_.” 

“Yes, sir.” Rigel pressed a few buttons, and the youthful face of the greying Scorpian scientist appeared on the small viewscreen. 

“We are ready, Colonel,” Wilker reported calmly, as if they weren’t preparing for the riskiest part of their entire plan. Out of courtesy towards Masters and the other Starfleet people, they were all using Federation Standard. 

“Are you sure that your calculations are reliable, Doctor?” Tigh asked. “Should you have made a mistake, we’ll not only destroy the rest of our people but drag the Federation ships with us.” 

“I’m aware of that, Colonel,” the scientist replied seriously, “but I think we agreed that we shouldn’t exchange a life of eternal fugitives for a life of mindless dependence. Or don’t you trust me anymore?” 

Tigh sighed. During his long military career, this was the first time that not only the fate of the fugitives depended on his decision, but also the fates of many other, helpful people – including that of the woman he loved. 

“Of course I trust you, Doctor Wilker, you’ve always been right so far. Besides, you know the inner design of Cylon basestars better than anyone in the Fleet, with the possible exception of Baltar. But it’s one thing to destroy _one_ basestar. To cripple _six_ of them in the same time, so that we can seize them, is something different.” 

“All you need to do is to get close enough, so that you can enter the interference signal directly into their comm system, and we’ve won,” Wilker replied. “The brains of the Cylons will burn out completely, and all that remains will be a great deal of excellent raw material. Without their brains they are barely more than a heap of sheet metal. They’ve upgraded themselves with cybernetic implants for so long that they got completely overwhelmed by their own technology. What little organic components they still have, we’ll be able to clean out easily. It’s certainly not enough to keep them alive.”

“Or so we hope,” Tigh murmured. “Are Captain Apollo and the others ready?” 

“As it has been arranged,” Wilker nodded. “Tell me, Colonel, is it true that you intend to lead the attack against one of the basestars personally?” 

“I can’t demand from my people something I wouldn’t be ready to do myself,” Tigh replied dryly. “Don’t worry, doc, I’m determined to stay alive. I’ve got certain… plans regarding my future.” 

“I’m afraid it’s not a pure case of determination,” Wilker said pessimistically; then he glanced aside, at another viewscreen somewhere out of the focus of the transmission and became even grimmer. “It’s time, Colonel. They’re here.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Inside the rift in space-time, which had shrunk to a shard of its former diameter during the recent weeks, now six, still tiny objects appeared: six grim-looking, iron-grey double discs like horrible spinning tops, cruel toys of a dark power. With grim elegance they drifted through the rift, in tight formation like at the times of the old, great war. The united Federation and Colonial Fleet was still hiding behind the asteroids, and Tigh mentally thanked the Lords of Kobol that the slow and clumsy civilian ships of the ragtag fleet had long gone to the safe, well-protected territory of the Federation. 

“We need to bring the _Galactica_ into position, Colonel,” the tense voice of Captain Apollo said through telecom; “and soon, if we want to cut off the Cylons’ escape route.” 

“I know,” Tigh answered, just as tensely, “but not yet. We have to wait a little longer.” 

“What for?” Apollo asked impatiently. “They’ve passed the rift, all six of them.” 

“I can see that, too, Captain. I still think that we need to wait a little more.” 

“Tigh, if we miss the crucial moment, our entire battle plan will collapse,” Adama intervened, clearly worried. 

“I’m aware of that, Commander. Give me another few _microns_. Please.” 

“What are you counting on, Colonel?” Boomer inquired. He had served under Tigh’s command long enough to know that his senior officer never did anything without a very good reason. 

Tigh pointed at the viewscreen, where a seventh basestar appeared in the middle of the rift. And then an eighth one. 

“On _that_ , Captain. I was counting on _that. Galactica_ , have you located the newcomers?” 

“Yes, Colonel,” Omega replied. “You were right… like it had been the case often before. Had we brought the _Galactica_ in position prematurely, we’d have walked straight into a deadly trap. But how could you know…?” 

“I didn’t _know_ it, Omega. I just had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation. Call it an instinct, if you want. The formation of the six basestars was too perfect, too much according to the rules. Cylons usually don’t make such an open show of their strength.” 

“They must have taken into consideration that we might get some help,” Adama added, “and wanted to forestall a possible pre-emptive strike from our side. Of course, they could not reckon with the superior technology of the Federation; and that is fortunate for us.” 

“Just as _we_ could not reckon with the appearance of two additional basestars,” Tigh gritted his teeth in frustration. “This won’t make our work any easier!” 

“Do you suggest that we should call off _Plan Delta_?” Adama asked, his disappointment clearly audible. 

“No,” Tigh said determinedly. “We are going to win these basestars for us. We can’t afford to lose eight potential space stations. If needs must be, we could even live aboard these monstrosities… for a while anyway.” 

“But are we going to receive the proper support from the side of the Federation?” the old commander asked in concern. He could feel that his old friend and aide was just about to succumb to the terrible, cold wrath so characteristic for Librans, and he was afraid that Tigh would lose his clear overview of the situation. 

“The Vulcans are with us,” Tigh told him, “and so is Chief Engineer Scott from the _Enterprise_ and the squadron of Captain Hunter. Besides, you’ve been given supreme command over this battle, Commander. You have every right to change the battle plan any time you want.” 

“Very well,” Adama sighed. “Let us spring the trap, then, before it’s too late.” 

“Agreed,” Tigh glanced at Rigel over his shoulder. “Conference circuit, Corporal.” 

“Ready, sir.” 

Tigh cleared his throat, and – since he was about to speak to the united Colonial-Federation strike forces – he acquired a more official tone. “To all: this is the _Antares_. The eagle is landing now, I repeat: the eagle is landing.” 

“All ships are acknowledging, sir,” Rigel reported. 

“Good,” Tigh nodded. “Then let’s go. Take care of the weapons controls, Captain; we have to do precision work here. First, we have to take the basestar at the rear end to task. As soon as we’ve shot its laser turrets to shards, I’ll go to full thrusters, until we got far enough from the rift to warp. Then we’ll fall back into normal space, right before the seventh basestar and slam our photon torpedoes directly into its drive. It’s of utmost importance that we distract these two basestars and so keep the backs of our people free. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” Boomer answered calmly. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aboard the _Galactica_ , Commander Adama was leaning heavily against the console of his watching post and glared at the large viewscreen intensely. 

“Tactical view,” he told Athena, without looking back. His daughter nodded nevertheless, while switching the screen from visual to the tactical computer graphics. 

“Tactical, sir,” she reported crisply. 

Adama watched with narrowing eyes as the schematic displays of the Cylon basestars – they looked like a handful of cogwheels on the tactical view – slowly reshaped their formation, building an elongated wedge now. The last two fell considerably behind. It was time now for the experienced Viper squadrons to take action. 

“Pilots, prepare for start,” he ordered. 

“Pilots, prepare for start,” Omega echoed, his long fingers practically flying across his keyboard, while the entire command platform turned with him, so that he, too, could face the tactical screen. “Catapult start in sixty _centons_.” 

His voice, coming through the intercom, echoed along the corridors of the _Galactica_. At the same time, the alarm sirens got off as well. The pilots, waiting in battle-readiness already, put their helms under their arms and ran off, jumping onto the slowly moving, broad transport platforms that carried them to the launching bays. 

Their Vipers were waiting for them, freshly tanked. The pilots slid into the narrow cockpits with practiced ease; the mechanics closed the lid over the cockpit and patted the side of the Vipers for good luck. 

“Commander,” Omega looked up from his console, “all squadrons are ready for launch.” 

The pilots started the engines. The familiar humming tone signalled to them that the machines, with which they practically became one out there in space, where they couldn’t count on anyone else, became alive. 

“Start all Vipers!” Adama ordered. Omega connected his microphone with the intercom system. 

“Red and Blue squadrons,” he said in the same calm, disciplined tone as in hundreds of other occasions during the recent years,” you are free to start. Silver Spar squadron, stand by.” 

Captain Apollo pushed the start button atop his joystick. The sudden pressure of the catapult start pressed him helplessly into his seat for a moment, and the lights along the launch tunnel flew bay with increasing speed, until finally the Viper, as if ejected from a rifle, flew out into space. Apollo engaged the engines and took his appointed place in the formation. Behind him the other Vipers started in a long row, like a cloud of shiny, quick and deadly arrows, to protect the remains of their people. 

“Commander, all our squadrons have started,” Omega reported. Adama nodded. 

“Direct them to sector Delta-Five; and be careful with the locating of the target. The smallest mistake could be lethal.” 

“Sector Delta-Five,” Omega, ever the perfect bridge officer, repeated; after a short while, he added. “Order executed, sir.” 

Meanwhile, the _Galactica_ had maneuvreed itself into the right position above the rift and aimed its laser cannons at the two basestars at the rear. 

“Common code, Athena,” Adama ordered, and when his daughter nodded, he spoke into the telecom in Standard. “To everyone: this is the _Galactica_. The circle has been closed, I repeat: the circle has been closed.” 

“ _Galactica_ , this is Hunter,” a calm female voice answered. “Operation Locusts has started. Affirmative: the locusts are on their way.” 

Over there, in sector Delta-Five, Captain Apollo switched to the closed circuit that connected the Vipers with each other. 

“Viper squadrons, this is Captain Apollo. You know what you have to do: lure the Cylon raiders away from the basestars. As soon as they got into the fire carpet of the Starfleet ships, turn hard around to avoid getting caught by friendly fire. Understood? Then let’s go.” 

The Vipers switched to turbo drive and flew by the Cylon basestars like silver arrows, with the overwhelming numbers of stingray-shaped Cylon raiders in hot pursuit. 

“Commander, the long-range radar shows that our squadrons have engaged the enemy,” Omega reported. 

“Put it on my monitor,” Adama ordered, and the bridge officer nodded. 

“Already done, sir.” 

The bridge crew, sitting or standing at the battle stations, watched the viewscreens and the readings of their instruments in growing concern. Following Adama’s orders, the main viewscreen displayed the live feed from the cockpit of Blue Leader. Everyone tensed up as the far-away dots grew to grey specks, which then approached enough to make out the flat-looking, although two-levelled Cylon raiders. 

The first Cylon shot was aimed at Blue Leader, and everyone on the bridge flinched, because for a moment it seemed that the shot hit. In the next moment, however, the blackness of space was filled with laser fire and the deadly blooms of soundless explosions, whenever one of the fighting parties landed a direct hit. Two Cylon raiders broke through the protective line of Blue Squadron and steered directly at the _Galactica_. 

“Reshape protective line,” Adama ordered. 

“ _Galactica_ to Blue Leader,” Omega said. “Attack!” 

One of the Blue Vipers left the formation and swept away the two attackers with a spectacular roundshot, turning them into blue fireballs, the flames of which leapt at each other, entwined with each other and became united in a single, blinding white explosion, illuminating for a moment a broad triangle of ships: the current formation of Blue Squadron. 

“The sheer numbers of the Cylons are overwhelming,” Athena commented, her face deathly pale at the sight of the criss-crossing red Colonial and blue Cylon laser beams on the viewscreen. 

“It won’t take long now,” her father said encouraging. “As soon as they reach the attack wedge of… there! There they are!” 

“The Federation ships!” Athena cried out, overjoyed, seeing the white ships leaping forth with amazing elegance. 

“Battle stations!” Adama shouted. 

“Yes, sir,” Athena, now doing Tigh’s actual duty, replied crisply, and she bent over the intercom. “Battle stations! Secure all sectors!” 

The alarm sirens went off again, and the normal lights on the bridge went out, giving room for the opaque red illumination used in battle situations. The viewports darkened as the heavy, protective armour plates were closed before them; now they were completely dependant on their radar. 

In the meantime, the Starfleet ships had opened fire at the Cylon raiders. They swept the battle area with broadly faceted phaser beams, and the Colonial squadrons turboed away, not wanting to get into the spray. 

Hunter’s squadron ploughed through the upcoming waves of Cylon raiders with a velocity that barely remained under light speed and approached the basestar leading the attack wedge. 

“Shields at full power,” Hunter ordered aboard the _Aerfen_. “Aim at their operations centre, Ilya Nikolaievich, and don’t wait for my command. Fire as soon as you get a secure lock at it.” 

“Aye-aye, Ma’am,” her golden-maned Russian weapons officer stared at the tactical console. “Target locked on. Phaser beams bundled… and fire!” 

The beam of the _Aerfen_ ’s phaser cannons, tightened to the smallest possible diameter, cut through the thick metal plates on the basestar’s narrow middle section like a razor-sharp spear. Ilya guided the beam with surgical precision, following Dr Wilker’s instructions, to disable everything in the basestar’s operative centre. 

“Direct hit, Captain,” he reported after twenty-two seconds. “The basestar is unable to maneuvre any more.” 

“The other basestars are taking up attack formation,” the astrotelemeter warned. “Captain, we won’t be able to withstand a coordinated attack.” 

“We don’t need to,” Hunter replied calmly. “Helm, retreat. We need to cover the locusts’ backs.” 

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“Commander,” Omega said aboard the _Galactica_ , “it seems that the last two basestars haven’t detected us yet. Should we sneak up to them?” 

“Yes,” Adama replied. “As soon as Colonel Tigh has destroyed the laser turrets of the last basestar, Sheba will land on it with the captured Cylon raider, and Athena will inject the virus program into their communications chain. The closer we are, the better the odds.” 

“There, sir,” Omega pointed at the viewscreen. “The _Antares_.” 

And indeed, at that very moment, as if out of nowhere, Colonel Tigh’s graceful little ship appeared in the middle of the battlefield and zoomed onto the outer laser turrets of the basestar in a steep angle. 

“Phaser cannons ready, Colonel,” Boomer reported. “At your mark.” 

“Just a _micron_ more,” Tigh grabbed the joystick of the _Antares_ with both hands; little as his new ship might be, it was a lot more difficult to handle than the one-man fighters he used to fly as a young pilot. “Now, Boomer!” 

Boomer fired the phaser cannons, and the laser turret of the basestar exploded into tiny metallic shards. Tigh was already turning aside the ship in a sharp angle, directly toward the next turret. That, however, was ready for them, and the _Antares_ shook with the impact of the laser beams hitting it. 

“Shields at eighty per cent,” Lieutenant Masters reported from her engineering console. 

“Fire,” Tigh replied, and Boomer fired again. 

“Phaser Two is empty, sir,” he reported. “We have to wait until the banks upload themselves again.” 

“We don’t have the time for that,” Tigh answered. “Slam six photon torpedoes into the operations centre of the basestar. After that, we’ll retreat far enough to go to warp.” 

“But the _Galactica_ …” 

“A crippled basestar won’t be a problem for Commander Adama. You have your orders, Captain.” 

To Masters’ surprise, Boomer stopped arguing and shot six photon torpedoes in a row into the middle of the basestar. That didn’t lame the flying monster entirely, but crippled it considerably. The _Antares_ shook violently after each shot but kept going nevertheless. 

“Dilithium crystals undamaged,” Masters reported, making a mental note to buy Scotty a big bottle of the best Aldebaran whiskey. “We can go to warp, sir… in a few miles from here.” 

“I have a fix on our drop point,” Tigh answered. “Full impulse. Prepare to go to warp.” 

“Warp engine ready, sir.” 

“Going to warp… now!” Tigh engaged the jury-rigged warp engine that Scotty had built for the _Antares_ from the scratch to execute the carefully calculated manoeuvre. 

“If Mr Spock has made a mistake, we’ll return to normal space as indefinable biomatter,” Boomer murmured, giving Masters a – hopefully not last – glance. 

“That’s highly unlikely,” she smiled at him. “Spock is virtually infallible. As far as mathematics are concerned, that is.” 

Tigh didn’t let himself be distracted by their chatter. 

“Twenty _microns_ until return to normal space,” he said in a dampened voice. “Fifteen _microns_ … ten… five… and dropping out!” 

He took the warp engine offline, and the _Antares_ fell back to underlight speed – and into the Einstein-universe –, shaking heavily. 

“Report!” Tigh demanded. 

“We are exactly where we are supposed to be,” Boomer reported in obvious relief. “With some luck, we can land on the basestar and leave unnoticed again.” 

“Have you copied the virus program?” 

“Yes, Colonel.” 

“Good. Give me the data chips.” 

“ _I was_ supposed to get out,” Boomer protested. Tigh shook his head. 

“No, Captain. This is _my_ fight. I will secure this basestar for the people of Libra… this is the only way to help my people. _I have_ the authorization to do so. _You_ haven’t.” 

“Very well, Colonel, it’s your duty, and I understand that you don’t want to transfer it to anyone,” Boomer answered. “Any further orders?” 

“Land the _Antares_ on the _Galactica_. Then take your Viper and go help the locusts. Our pilots know what to do. As soon as the virus has spread through all Cylon comm channels, we’re going to seize the basestars.” 

“Can you do that?” Masters asked in surprise. Tigh nodded. 

“Captain Apollo, Sheba, Dietra and Jolly have the authorization from the _Quorum_. They'll get the direct order from Commander Adama, as soon as you land on the _Galactica_. The rest depends on Athena… and on me.” 

“We’ve reached optimal distance, Colonel,” Masters reported. “Phaser cannons are at full energy level again.” 

“Good,” Tigh said. “We’ll do the same as before. I’ll try to manoeuvre faster, and when both phaser cannons are empty, I’ll land on the basestar. Boomer, you take over the _Antares_. You’ll have approximately ten _microns_ to get away. Don’t tarry!” 

“Yes, sir,” Boomer replied crisply; then he bent over the targeting scanners with narrowed eyes. “Ten degrees to starboard, if I may ask.” 

“As you wish,” Tigh changed course accordingly. “Fire!” 

Boomer destroyed the laser turret with an expert hand, but in the next moment he had to grab his seat, because Tigh made such a sharp curve that he nearly landed on the floor. But the manoeuvre was successful: the high-energy laser beams of the other turret missed the little ship. 

“Fire,” Tigh ordered. 

Boomer shot the other phaser cannon empty. The glowing metal shards of the laser turret were still flying all around them when the colonel made another sharp curve with the small destroyer, aiming at the landing bay of the basestar. 


	15. The Great Battle, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a little longer than the average, so I simply divided it in two. Captain Hunter from the _Aerfen_ is a recurring book character from the novels of Vanda McIntyre, as is her weapons officer, Ilya. And no, I still have no idea how Dr Wilker’s virus works. Sorry.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**Chapter 14: The Great Battle, Part 2**

The star-peppered dark background of space was almost completely filled with the enormous double disk of the basestar, and as Tigh steered the _Antares_ with a steady hand between the wildly zigzagging Cylon raiders, the Vipers and the one-man Tennet 5 hunters of the Federation, it seemed to grow constantly. On its seemingly endless, iron-grey surface they could now see the trapezoid dents that served as launching and landing bays for the raiders, at the same distance on both the upper and the lower levels, like the keys of some bizarre, circular music instrument.

The laser guns placed around the basestar’s disk were no danger for them anymore (they shot the nearest ones to pieces, and the others were in a wrong angle), but some of the raiders had detected them already and now turned back to keep the _Antares_ from landing. Their powerful laser beams repelled harmlessly from the small destroyer’s energy shields, however. Mr Scott had thought of everything.

“Shields at sixty per cent,” Masters reported calmly.

“Good,” Tigh answered, without taking his eyes from the navigations console. “Brace for impact. We’re going in.”

He drove at the trapezoid indent of the nearest landing ramp in a breakneck angle, ignoring the stabbing pain in his spine - caused by the co-effect of the sluggish steering mechanism and the abrupt pressure - and he went down along the empty strip in a rapidly descending line. He set down the relatively big machine as gently as if it were just a Viper.

“We were lucky that the defence system hasn’t identified us as a hostile raider,” Boomer said. “Or else we’d have bounced off the landing strip’s energy shield.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re out of danger yet,” Rigel warned. “The unknown configuration might have confused the system for the moment, but sooner or later, the intruder alarm will sound. The sooner we get off here, the better.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the meantime in Sector Delta-Five the full-blown battle was going on. The fire-carpet of the Starfleet ships had swept a great number of Cylon raiders from the battle plane, but there still were more than enough to outnumber the squadrons of Apollo and Hunter. And the energy shields of the big ships not only had to take care of the raiders that had somehow managed to break through the defence perimeter, they also had to absorb the firepower of the basestars that were coming up against them in a tight attack formation.

“Shields at sixty-five per cent,” Spock reported aboard the _Enterprise_ with unnatural calmness. “According to my calculations we can take four more such hits at best. After that, we will be defenceless.”

“The _Constellation_ and the _Kennedy_ are in no better shape, either,” Uhura, who was keeping contact with the other ships through her earpiece, added worriedly. “The _Intrepid_ can hold her position for another ten point six five minutes. Only the _Divine Wind_ seems still intact.”

“What about the _Galactica_?” Kirk asked.

“Apparently, the Cylons hasn’t detected the Battlestar yet, captain. The _Antares_ has managed to cripple the two basestars at the rear and is just about to land on one of them.”

“To _land_?” Kirk repeated, completely baffled. “They were not supposed to do that, were they?”

Uhura shrugged. Unlike Scotty and some of his team, she had not been informed about every detail in advance, as Tigh did not want her to get in an awkward situation.

“I don’t know, Captain. But Commander Adama is hailing us, so he probably will provide some information.”

“It’s about time,” Kirk growled. “Onscreen.”

Uhura obliged, and Adama’s face appeared on the main viewscreen. He made a grim impression.

“To all ships of the united forces: this is Commander Adama of the _Galactica_. Our battle plans have been changed in one important detail. Please retreat to a safe distance. Further instructions will follow in four standard minutes. Adama out.”

The connection was broken abruptly, and Kirk exchanged surprised looks with his senior officers.

“What was _that_ supposed to mean?” Sulu, too, was flabbergasted. Kirk shrugged.

“I have no idea. But I guess we should let Commander Adama lead the game for a while. If his new plan doesn’t work out, we can still intervene. I’m sure Mr Scott won’t be unhappy to get a break to lure some more energy out of his beloved machines. Take us out of weapons range, Mr. Sulu.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Sulu might be flabbergasted, but he knew that being out of weapons range was a good thing, so he did his best to reach that desirable position.

Following Adama’s orders, the Starfleet ships retreated beyond the reach of the Cylon laser turrets, and the crews followed the battle on the viewscreens. One of the Cylon raiders also left the battle scene and approached the basestar crippled by the _Aerfen_ unnoticed. At the same time, Colonel Tigh’s ship vanished between the double discuses of the farthest basestar.

“One of the Cylon raiders seem to be returning to base,” Kirk said. “Uhura, send the _Galactica_ a warning.”

“They are aware of that, sir,” Uhura replied, after having a short exchange with Omega aboard the _Galactica_. “There aren’t Cylons flying that raider, though. It’s Lieutenant Sheba. She’s going to land on the basestar to slip their comm system a virus, form which the colonial scientists hope it will burn out the brains of the Cylons.”

Kirk shot Spock a surprised glance. “Is that possible at all?”

The Vulcan nodded thoughtfully. “Theoretically, it is, Captain. The Cylons in their current state are barely more than machines… and extremely dependent on their programming. The outcome depends on Doctorr Wilker’s professional skills, in the end. However, Commander Sonak from the _Intrepid_ meant the equations were promising.”

Kirk gave his first officer a wounded look. “You’ve known about it all the time?”

“You mean what they have planned for the battle?” Spock specified, just to be sure about the actual question. “Of course not, Captain, otherwise I would have informed you. But Doctor Wilker, Commander Sonak and I _have_ discussed the problem… in theory.”

“And?” Kirk demanded. For a moment, it seemed that Spock would shrug… but then Vulcan self-control won as always.

“It _could_ work… in theory. However, there are too many unknown factors to make a sound estimate, Captain.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Colonel Tigh left the _Antares_ , not even wasting his time with saying goodbyes. Everything depended on speed now… and on the reliability of his memory; whether he had been able to fix the inner structure of a basestar in his mind - following Apollo’s descriptions - or not. Although the basestar was partially crippled already, its internal sensors were still working, and if he didn’t hurry up, he could be caught in any moment.

Boomer, using maneuvering thrusters only, lifted the _Antares_ from the metallic floor of the landing bay. He couldn’t start the impulse engines until they left the discus-section, as they would turn the entire landing bay into a gloving oven. Once they cleared the bay, however, he went to full impulse and vanished from Tigh’s eyesight in the turmoil of the battle.

The colonel pulled his heavy laser pistol (not such a sophisticated tool as a Starfleet-issue phaser but a weapon of considerably more firepower) from the halter fastened to his thigh and started looking for the access tunnel that would lead him into the centre of the ship. He had to waste a few precious moments with orientation but found the lid opening his way into the maintenance tunnels nevertheless. Through those tunnels he hoped to reach the control centre of the sensor phalanx. With considerable effort, he lifted the heavy lid – and looked down almost six levels. They had landed on a bay of the upper discus, and now he needed to make his way downwards. Fortunately, he had never been prone to dizziness – that would have blocked his career as a combat pilot before it had started.

The area was not guarded, which was unusual, knowing the working order of a Cylon basestar. But perhaps the single guard who was supposed to stand in this section had been ordered somewhere else. Besides, the Cylons most likely didn’t think that someone would be crazy enough to come voluntarily to their base, from where he could not hope to escape. With a mental shrug, Tigh accepted his luck and started climbing down the metal ladder. As he had to hold his weapon, he could only use one hand to aid himself, and the lid fell closed above him with a loud _thud_.

Not that it mattered, as in case he succeeded he would have to remain aboard anyway. However, the loud noise must have caught the guards’ attention in the neighbouring sections, and Tigh knew he had no chance to survive while still hanging from the ladder. Without hesitation, he put the laser pistol between his teeth, grabbed both sides of the ladder, and swinging free from the grades, he glided down some five levels within minutes. His palms were raw and almost smoking when he reached bottom, but he had won precious time with this relic manoeuvre from his childhood.

Barely had he reached the bottom lid, he could already hear the heavy steps of Cylon foot soldiers. He quickly slid into the next tunnel, allowing the lid to fall closed behind him again. Trying to hide was useless already; now he had to see that he progressed quickly. The Cylons’ laser beams were hissing ominously on the now closed metal door behind him.

Seven levels and two additional lids later he reached his goal. The computer room of the basestar was a long, narrow room, near the operations centre. One lengthy wall was covered with the sloping surfaces of the mysteriously blinking and chirping database units. On the other side was a long, horizontal console with countless monitors and some more database panels above it. The surface of the console looked as if protected by a shield of unbreakable opaque glass.

The room was so narrow that it would barely provide enough working space for two persons, and it was obviously not designed for the technicians working at the console in a sitting position. Which, of course, wouldn’t bother the average Cylon soldier, at least not as long as their energy cells weren’t exhausted. They were barely more than robots with some organic components, after all.

The lack of comfort didn’t bother Tigh, either. He went straight to one of the monitors, and – according to Doctor Wilker’s instructions – touched the “opaque glass” surface. It cleared up immediately, and the complicated readings and integrated circuits became visible behind its unbreakable surface. For a while, Tigh studied the confusing layout (well, confusing for a human anyway) with a frown. Most people would have panic at that sight, save perhaps Vulcans. Tigh, however, had not only been a first class pilot in his youth, he also had a good grasp on technology and computers. That was another shared trait with Boomer, in whom he often thought to recognize his youthful self.

Besides, Doctor Wilker had been most persistent to squeeze every bit of information out of Baltar, as long as he still had the chance to do so. And he made the most useful memos and sent them to the senior officers on a regular basis.

Thank to Wilker’s instructions and the knowledge about Cylon technology that they had gathered during the war, it took Tigh only a few _microns_ to find the right interface that allowed him access to the basestar’s comm system. As a human, he couldn’t directly interface with the network, of course. It wouldn’t have been recommendable anyway, as the human brain would have been overloaded by the incredible amount of information flowing through that network. That was the reason why high-ranking Cylon officers needed two brains, their supreme leaders no less than three.

But the multitalented Boomer, with Uhura’s help, had found a way around the problem. They had created a small gadget that was capable of fooling the system and make it believe that it was dealing with a Cylon executive officer. At the time when the artificial intelligence realized its mistake, Doctor Wilker’s sneaky computer virus was already spreading and multiplying happily through its circuits, doubling itself in a higher degree in every nanosecond.

After launching the virus, Tigh only had two more things to do: to create a conference circuit between the comm systems of all basestars, so that the virus could spread to the other basestars… and to wait. He knew Sheba was doing the same thing aboard the other Cylon ship, and that Athena was sending the activation code from the command deck of the _Galactica_. It couldn’t take much longer now.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Had Imperious Leader been able to get a glimpse of the _Galactica_ ’s bridge, he’d have been shocked by the sudden switch of attitude between the two sides. On board the colonial flagship, concentrated calmness ruled, while aboard his own… even the news coming through his communications network had become confusing since the humans began to shoot back – and win. The losses on the Cylon side were heavier than anything they had experienced during their millennia-long existence. Nor had any Cylon armada ever encountered any ships of such strange configuration and such immense firepower.

As his third brain had more time than usual to analyse the situation, Imperious Leader was able to track down his mistakes. It seemed to him that his first mistake was that he had begun to occupy himself with humans in the first place. The second – and even worse – mistake was that he underestimated the contagious nature of this alien plague; the ability of mankind to extend their harmful influence to other people, even in this unknown, far-away corner of the universe.

The order of Cosmos had been undisturbed before humans would begin to spread all across the galaxy. For a while, the Cylons avoided direct confrontation, even under those circumstances. Instead, they tried to persuade the humans to vacate the occupied space; to return to their homeworld and keep out of the affairs of other races.

It had been a fair and reasonable suggestion. It would have served the interest of both parties. But of course the humans refused to listen. So there was no other solution left than to go to war against them. And even though the Cylons had been the ones to launch the first attack, the actual blame for the hostilities lay by the humans. By their stubborn refusal to stop their meddling with Cylon affairs; to give up their colonies and return to that forgotten, dark corner of the universe where they had crawled forth from.

Imperious Leader accessed the memories of his predecessors and analysed every single case when the Cylons had to deal with this particular enemy. Truly, humans were like a plague. Once they had contaminated an area with their presence, there was no healing possible. The plague spread and spread, until it reached all lifeforms present in that area. Thus they had even contaminated the Cylons, bringing the Empire to this lowest point of its history.

The defeat of the Cylon armada against the small contingent of human ships and their allies was a true shock for Imperious Leader. Especially the way Adama had managed to lure two of his baseships in a trap and to cripple two of them already… the flagship being one of those, to add insult to injury. It was humiliating. Imperious Leader almost became overwhelmed with wrath when he as much as thought of Adama. Without this stubborn, demonic man, the primal source of all human victories, the Cylons would have long won this war, probably at Cimtar, or during the destruction of the colonies, at the very latest.

Who could have thought that Adama would be insane enough to lead his slow and vulnerable fleet through the anomaly? Who could have thought that not only would they survive that transit but also find allies that were _this_ powerful – and to lure the greatest Cylon force ever concentrated to eliminate an enemy into a deadly trap? Who could have thought that any Cylon fleet would _ever_ suffer such a crushing defeat?

The alarming proportions of his dire situation slowly, gradually became clear to him. Any other Imperious Leader, realizing the impact of the defeat they had suffered, would have retreated at once and ordered his death. That would have been the only logical step. His death would have been the price for his mistake – that he allowed the humans to survive, although he should have eradicated them.

But he couldn’t make that step. No, he _needed_ to live, to pursue Adama and the remnants of this loathsome race, to whatever corner of the universe they were going, supported by their new allies. He could not die before he had fulfilled his obligation: to utterly eliminate them all. He couldn’t allow himself to flee his responsibility. He didn’t deserve the privilege of self-destruction as long as _one_ human was left.

He had the vague feeling that none of his predecessors would have hesitated to give up their positions and die. That they wouldn’t have given in to fruitless hatred, wouldn’t have thirsted vengeance with such obsession. When he asked himself what was driving him so mercilessly, he had to realize the hopeless trap he had walked into with all his eyes wide open. He had occupied himself with humans too long. He had tried to guess their way of thinking too long. In a way, he had become just like them. This thirst for vengeance – this was depressingly human.

Becoming like his enemy was perhaps the ultimate, most humiliating defeat in this long war full of frustration and fruitless pursuit. But he was willing to accept it… for the time being. There _was_ a way to exterminate the human contamination from his mind. All he had to do was to exterminate the humans themselves. Starting with Adama, whom he wanted to kill personally. But to _that_ , he needed to stay alive.

Of course, Imperious Leader couldn’t know that _that_ particular decision had already been taken off his hands.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Tigh glanced at his wrist chrono. It contained a miniaturized computer (the colonial equivalent of a tricorder), which calculated that the virus planted in the comm system would read critical mass in twenty-five _microns_. Meaning the amount that would let loose the signal that was supposed to burn out the electronic Cylon brains.

The colonel looked at the door at the far end of the computer room in hesitation. That door led directly to the operations centre of the basestar. Entering the command deck of the Cylon ship before it was verified that the virus would, indeed, provide the desired effort, was a great risk, of course. On the other hand, Tigh couldn’t resist the temptation to watch _the fracking tinheads_ , as young pilots frequently called the Cylons among themselves, turn into a heap of scrap metal. Besides, if the virus didn’t work, he’d be found and killed in _microns_ anyway. What did he have to lose?

The slide doors opened for him automatically, just like on any human ship, and he stepped into an immense, dimly lit room that – together with the adjoining computer room – was the nerve centre of every Cylon basestar.

As he expected, based on previous knowledge, the circular walls of the operations centre were framed with semi-circular consoles. Some of those were round and smooth, their frontal panel ridged with vertical light beams (or lighting surfaces) at regular intervals. In no way could these serve purely decorative purposes. Firstly, because the Cylons lacked any sense of aesthetics as humans understood it, and secondly, because sometimes they emanated a pulsing light in a strange rhythm, presumably sending information to the commander of the basestar.

Other consoles were iron-grey, their front panels shaping up in a sharp triangle. Tigh instinctively felt that these consoles (or rather the Cylon officers standing behind them) had to be the units commanding the merciless swarms of raiders against the human forces, although he couldn’t have given a logical explanation for his certainty if his life depended on it. There were certain things a good warrior simply _knew_. And Tigh _was_ a good warrior, whether he sat in a Viper or stood on the _Galactica_ ’s bridge. He could barely resist the temptation to shoot both the consoles and their operators to shards… which, at the given moment, was unnecessary and tactically unwise.

Based on Apollo and Starbuck’s reports, he expected the middle of the operations centre to be empty, and that in the exact middle of this empty space a Cylon officer in golden armour would stand – a so-called Gold Commander, one of the executive officers who maintained unbroken contact with their supreme leader. _All_ Cylon basestars were led by a Gold Commander – save the one led by Baltar.

And, of course, the very one into whose operations centre Tigh had just sneaked in, driven by his curiosity and by his hatred against Cylons. The middle of _this_ operations centre was not empty. It was occupied by a high, cone-shaped pedestal, the sides of which were covered by sharp, barbed points and thorn-like extensions that were blinking arhythmically in the dim lights of the immense chamber. Atop the pedestal, there was a semi-circular armchair that could be turned around at will, and in that chair a seemingly small figure was seated, clad in a shiny brown robe. Its disproportionally large head was partially enclosed in some sort of golden mesh – a high-capacity communications helmet – but even in the twilight, it could be clearly seen that, unlike its subjects, it was not a machine. The surface colour of its knobbly head was made up of various shades of grey, like shadows without a source, and in all this greyness, many eyes glowed coldly, ominously. At first sight, Tigh could recognize at least three of them. The elongated lower part of its face reminded of the jaws of a Terran crocodile.

The colonel froze for a moment when he realized whom he was facing: the supreme leader of the Cylon Empire, whom very few humans had ever got to see and even fewer had lived to tell the tale. The momentary distraction was enough for the guards, of course, to spot him. The two soldiers guarding the main entrance pointed their laser rifles at him at once, but didn’t shoot. They waited for their superiors’ orders.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Imperious Leader was just as much surprised by this unexpected encounter. So surprised, in fact, that he couldn’t even react immediately. The Cylon leader knew, of course, who the human standing in front of him was. Cylon databases kept track on the more important human leaders, especially on the military ones. Thus he recognized the loathsome aide of the loathsome Adama at once. He just didn’t know how to use this particular piece of information to his advantage. Not _yet_ , that is.

Imperious Leader had learned a long time ago to suppress his disgust towards humans. In the extremely rare cases when he was forced to face a captured enemy directly, he always felt sick after the interrogations for quite some time. Humans disturbed his sense of order. As if he had absorbed a small amount of their irrationality, whenever he had to endure their physical presence. After a while, he had learned how to face them without unwanted after-effects – through self-discipline and the conscious suppression of his third brain’s certain sections – but this still didn’t mean that he _liked_ to meet them.

The human now facing him, however, threatened with the return of the old, irrational reactions – which was a great danger for his analytic thinking. While he was still trying to understand why he would find this particular specimen even more disturbing, he carefully shielded the parts of his mind that could be harmed by the mere presence of this being.

Perhaps the answer was simpler than he thought. Perhaps this particular human, this stubborn and short-tempered Libran officer incorporated everything that Cylons despised most. The Librans’ stubbornness, their unyielding need for freedom, their insane heroism and despicable attraction to the confusing and irrational concept humans called “art” disturbed the order of the Cosmos more than any other human aspects. They were the most loathsome representatives of an utterly loathsome race.

And Tigh, executive officer of the _Galactica_ , one of the last spawns of the Libran priest class, this very incorporation of the most irrational religious superstitions, was the most harmful of all his people. Imperious Leader would have loved to let him killed without much ado, but the intricate rituals of Cylon society demanded from him to be at least polite.

“Greetings, Colonel,” he sent a mental order to the vocal output of his helmet to use a frequency audible for human ears. “What brings us the honour of your visit?"

Tigh gave his wrist chrono another glance. _Nineteen microns left_ , the miniature screen told him. If he kept the leader occupied – well, at least part of his attention, as no single person could have hoped to gain the whole attention of a being that had three brains – that would make it a little easier for the Viper squadrons. The less guidance the Cylon raiders got from their leader, the clumsier, the more vulnerable they became.

“I always wanted to see a Cylon basestar from the inside,” he replied lightly, determined to win as much time as possible; quite frankly, he was surprised that they hadn’t shot him full of holes in the moment they spotted him. “So I decided to seize the opportunity, in case I wouldn’t get any second chance. Of course, I didn’t think I’d walk into the very arms of the leader of your Empire.”

The nonchalant answer of the human (in which he recognized the flavour this strange race called sarcasm) surprised Imperious Leader. In the rare cases a captured human was dragged before him, the subject was usually half mad from terror… or so apathetic that it was barely capable of answering questions. _This_ human, however, behaved as if his captivity had been a carefully considered part of some complex and secret plan. Imperious Leader was not prepared for such reaction. Although, to be honest, he couldn’t always foretell the spontaneous changes of human emotions. This was part of which made this harmful race so annoyingly unpredictable.

“And now that your old wish has been granted, what do you think of our base?” Imperious Leader asked, ordering his third brain to give a portion of human-like sarcasm to the spoken words. The adage of sarcasm turned out adequate, which provided him with mild satisfaction.

“Impressive design,” the human admitted, giving the small instrument on his wrist another fleeting glance. “Had your race dedicated to construction just a quarter of the efforts you have wasted on destruction, you’d have reshaped half the universe by now.”

“We _are_ reshaping the universe, Colonel,” Imperious Leader replied, slightly surprised, as always, by another proof of human inability to understand the greater design of events. “To be more specific: we are reinstalling the order of the universe that had been disturbed by the harmful intervention of the human race.”

“The order of geometrically perfect morgues and cemeteries?” the human asked, his voice strangely lacking any emotions. “An order that demands the murdering of innocent children in the body of their mother, before they could have been born?”

“Humans,” Imperious Leader answered with the same total lack of emotion, “are unable to recognize the shape of a greater design, unless they are made aware of it. But even then, their minds are too small to absorb the design in its entirety. All they can see are details, never the whole picture. Small wonder that they haven’t been able to subjugate any part of the universe so far.”

The human made that peculiar sound that his race used to express amusement – or, as they would call it themselves, he _laughed_.

“The concept might be beyond the comprehension of a race as limited as the Cylons are,” he replied, “but we want to _explore_ the universe, not to subjugate it… at least the sane majority of us. We are against the destruction and the mindless killing that accompanies the urge for power. That’s why we find it necessary to stop the Cylon war machine… once and forever.”

“That is odd,” Imperious Leader said. “So far, I had the impression, and the state of the current battle does not change it, that humans have been _fleeing_ from us.”

Once again, Tyr glanced at his wrist chrono. The counter stood on zero.

“Up to this moment,” he replied with that terrible, cold amusement that all people who’d ever served under him feared more than any outburst of rage, “your impression has been right.”

“And what would be changing in this moment?” Imperious Leader inquired, using the tool of sarcasm again. It seemed… adequate, under the circumstances.

Before the guards could have reacted, the human draw his weapon and aimed it directly at Imperious Leader’s bulbous head. The guards froze, not daring to move and cause the death of their leader. Tigh smiled. It was a cold, very unpleasant smile.

“In this very moment, it has become unnecessary to kill you. In fact, not allowing you to savour your final and complete defeat, would considerably lessen my revenge. So I’ll let you live… for the short time you have still left.”

The executive officers and the guards finally decided to intervene. They came into motion simultaneously to relive themselves of the outrageous intruder who dared to threaten their leader. Tigh threw himself to the floor, rolling to the side (and suppressing the stabbing pain in his spine once again), firing at the guards with the laser rifles who presented the most immediate danger for him. It seemed that his reflexes were still quite good. The guards staggered and went down with a loud metallic _clang_.

In the same moment some strong high-frequency resonance began to sound in the operations centres of all Cylon basestars. The automatic relays, thank to Tigh’s expert preparations, switched to the highest volume, so that there wasn’t a single nook or corner on any of the eight basestars that was not filled with the resonance. The sensitive second brains of the Gold Commanders were the first ones to succumb, leaving nothing but a heap of burnt-out, half-molten circuits in their sculls. Then the more primitive brains of the foot soldiers also fell victim to Doctor Wilker’s intricate programming – as soon as Sheba reached the computer room on the other basestar and slipped the secondary virus into the comm network, amplified by the _Galactica_ ’s own powerful comm system.

Imperious Leader cringed from the stabbing pain lacing into all his three brains. He became dizzy in his high chair and, falling from his huge pedestal, hit the floor in the most undignified manner, like a dead frog. His resistant reptilian metabolism saved him from being crushed to death, and his high-capacity third brain kept him alive a few _microns_ longer than his subjects. Long enough to see the human get up, walk over to him and look down at his convulsing body without compassion.

“I’ve met a lot of strange-looking creatures since we passed the anomaly,” the human told him conversationally, “but I’ve never seen such an ugly beast like you. Look at the bright side of it, Leader: our physicians will learn a great deal from dissecting you and studying your insides. That makes your long career of death and destruction just a little less wasted.”


	16. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The names of the Federation ambassadors were taken from Shane Johnson’s excellent book “The Worlds of the Federation. We know from “Star Trek – The Motion Picture” that Spock indeed returned to Vulcan for a while and began studying the discipline of the Kolinahr – until the telepathic message of V’Ger called him out of it.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Chapter 15: Consequences**

The laser turrets of the big basestars became silent. The ships that resembled of enormous, moving space stations, hung crippled in the blackness of space, among the unblinking stars. The selected colonial Vipers landed, one after another, and Apollo, Dietra, Jolly and the other pilots seized control over the Cylon ships. When the reports came in that the basestars indeed represented no threat any longer, Tigh shut off the resonance signal and switched to the shared frequency of the united Federation-Colonial fleet.

“To all ships: this is Colonel Tigh aboard the eighth Cylon basestar, which I hereby declare property of the Libran survivors, together with the one neutralized by Captain Boomer. All Cylons aboard this ship are dead. Should any of the raiders have escaped, it’s up to the Vipers to hunt down and destroy them. Not a single one must survive.”

“No problem, Colonel,” Captain Apollo replied from his own basestar. “Practically all raiders were in comm-contact with the one or other baseship. The rest of them is already history. I’ve secured Basestar Number One for Caprica.”

“All right,” Tigh said. “In that case, I’ll give you _Sire_ Solon, chief accuser of the colonies, on unicom. He has an offer for the Federation.”

He made another switch, and on the screens of all fleet ships as well as on those of Federation monitoring stations that had been watching the events since the beginning of the battle, the dark, intelligent face of _Sire_ Solon appeared.

“Honoured representatives of the United Federation of Planets,” the chief accuser began in his deep, even voice, “I have been authorized by the _Quorum of Twelve_ to present you the following offer. If you are willing to let us have an uninhabited solar system matching our needs within the borders of the Federation, _without_ the obligation to join the Federation, we are willing to let the Federation have an intact basestar with all the Cylon technology and the knowledge stored in its databases. Otherwise, we’ll regretfully have to look for a new home somewhere else. We give you three of your standard days to consider our offer. Solon out.”

Before the completely flabbergasted Kirk could have react to this… ultimatum, Uhura turned her seat to him.

”Colonel Tigh would like to speak you, Captain.”

“Onscreen,” Kirk ordered, obviously willing and ready to give his way too independent ally a piece of his mind. But Tigh left him no time to start his tirade.

”Captain Kirk, I’ve got a present for your exobiology lab. Could you beam it over directly?”

”A... present?“ Kirk repeated in suspicion. “What sort of present?“

”A quite dead one,” Tigh replied calmly. “The Imperious Leader of the Cylon Empire... or what’s left of him, after all three of his brains got burned out. I thought, Doctor M’Benga would have his fun with such an extraordinary specimen.”

”Oh, he would,” McCoy agreed, grinning. ”When he gets his hands on something like _that_ , he’ll behave like a human, not like a half-Vulcan, for at least ten minutes. But Colonel, wouldn’t your physicians want to examine the body first?”

“The _Galactica_ is not a science ship, doctor,” Tigh answered, “nor are any of our other ships, save the _Electra_ , but not even there do we have the necessary equipment for something like that. However, were you willing to allow Doctor Salik to participate…”

“Oh, sure, get him over here,” McCoy rubbed his hands in glee. “Jim, can you imagine what a chance _that_ would be? We could study a life-form completely alien to us: a real symbiosis between organic life and highly developed technology!”

“Very well,” Kirk gave in, albeit a little reluctantly. “Beam the deceased one directly into M’Benga’s lab. And let Doctor Salik come over. I don’t want people to say we’d treat our… present egoistically. Tell me, Colonel…”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Has you virus contaminated the databases of the basestars as well?”

“It wasn’t supposed to,” Tigh replied, “nor seems anything like that to have happened, so far. But if Uhura could spare a comm technician for us to help me to remove it from the system, I’d feel safer. It’d be an irreparable loss, should the data get contaminated.”

Kirk turned to Uhura. “Whom would you recommend, Lieutenant?”

“Yeoman Barrows,” the communications officer answered without hesitation. “She’s the best. She can also download the data when she’s at it anyway. We’d save a lot of time that way.”

The chance to get his hands on the Cylon databases before everyone else made Kirk somewhat lenient… at least temporarily. “All right. Send her over, then.”

Tonia Barrows hailed from Cygnet XIV, the home of the Federation’s best computer-technicians. Not even Vulcans could match their experts, whose technological knowledge was paired with unparalleled intuition. Barrows was glad to be freed from the moderately interesting assignment of being Kirk’s personal secretary and finally be able to do some work for which her abilities more than qualified her.

Uhura would have preferred to beam over to the basestar personally (and in this wish the fact that Tigh was over there didn’t even play a major role – she was very curious how the alien technology worked) but she knew that at the moment asking Kirk’s permission would have been futile. It was Spock who accompanied Barrows in her stead, and two technicians from Mr Scott’s section, who had to check whether the basestar’s board systems were damaged or not.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The ultimatum of the _Quorum of Twelve_ dropped into the middle of Federation diplomats, who had gathered on Starbase 18 in the meantime, like a bomb.

“That was fast!” Tongo Sil, Catulla’s ambassador (aside from being a diplomat also one of the best space researcher of his planet) remarked.

Iloran of 114 Delta V shook his elegant, bald head. “I don’t think so, honoured colleague. The way they turned the battle plan inside out in just the right moment speaks of careful preparation.”

“You mean the colonial leaders risked a defeat, just to get their hands on something they would be able to bargain with?” Shrall K’Tik of Andor wiggled his antennae.

“That would be a risky yet very logical decision, do you not think?” Sarek intervened. “They did not want to depend on the mercy of the Federation, and they managed to find something of value for our scientists.”

“Even if the price and the offer don’t necessarily have the same value,” added T’Sedd, the ambassador of Rigel V, whose elegant features and pointed ears could have belonged to a Vulcan – had she not that small, enigmatic smile in the corner of her mouth.

The small, slender, azure-skinned H’T’Jera, representing Deneb II, narrowed her long eyes.

“I wouldn’t agree with that, Lady T’Shedd,” she said. “Our victory against the Cylons doesn’t necessarily meant that we won’t have to face them again, somewhen in the future. And in such a case the knowledge we can gain about them could decide between life or death for us.”

“Besides,” Ambassador Cino Desdin, a technological genius, rubbed his big, lettuce-shaped ears, which was the surest sign of excitement by Tiburonians, “I’d give a year's salary for the chance to take one of those basestars apart and find out how they work. This is a technology completely alien to us; we could learn a great deal and probably reach a breakthrough in cybernetics.”

“You leave an important aspect out of consideration, valued colleagues,” Zella Ra’ancine of Alpha Centauri VII said quietly. “The outer, mostly unexplored sectors of the Federation are more or less uninhabited and thus open to attack. If we let the Colonials have one of those sectors and manage to talk them into accepting at least allied status, that would mean that we have secured our backs through a civilization that is well-disposed towards us. I think that would be an advantage we must not lose.”

“But these people won’t be able to terraform the planets on their own,” Gartiv, the Tellarite ambassador argued, lifting his short, snout-like nose as a sign of nervosity.

“They don’t have to,” Zella Ra’ancine answered. “I’ll have to discuss the problem with my government in particular and with the ruling body of the Alpha Centauri Concordium in general, of course. But I’m quite certain that we’ll be willing to offer humanitarian assistance.”

“And so will the Mars Colonies,” Keith Duryea added.

“And Earth doubtlessly, too,” countered Benjamin Adams. “After all, these people are without question humans, regardless how long our ways might have parted.”

“Ardana can afford to help them with the building of their new worlds,” Ambassador Tresus shrugged, “ _without_ selling them our technology, which we certainly _won’t_ be willing to do. However, first we need to find the right place for them.”

“According to my research, although the time I had at my disposal was unfortunately short, the colonies represent twelve relatively different cultures,” Sarek said calmly. “Not to mention the Borellans who had joined them on their way. It is by no way certain, therefore, that they would all want to live on the same planet, or even in the same solar system.”

“And you want to say… what exactly?” Benjamin Adams asked impatiently.

“That it would be possible for our worlds to negotiate individual treaties with the individual colonial peoples,” Sarek pointed out. “Since the Federation Council is already informed, I suggest that we all contact our respective governments and pass on the colonial application. That way, each government can decide which one of the twelve… the thirteen groups they would like to offer help.”

Benjamin Adams furrowed his brow in suspicion. “You as a member of the Federation Council already do have a suggestion for the global solution, don’t you?”

“That is a logical assumption,” Sarek replied with dignity. “Have you ever heard of Sector G-132?”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Colonel Tigh was spending his second week alone aboard the Cylon basestar. He had to remain there to secure the rights of his people, the Librans, as the traditional Right of Claiming - as old as the original colonies themselves - demanded. It wasn’t a very pleasant assignment, accompanied by hundreds of dead Cylons, but Tigh had grown accustomed to such missions during the long, lonely patrols as a young pilot. Besides, some time to think over his life and make decisions for the future – now that he had the chance of _having_ a future – wasn’t that bad.

Of course, he’d have preferred to have Uhura with him. But they couldn’t find any official reason to ask for her presence, and after having made his move behind Starfleet’s back, he knew Captain Kirk wouldn’t be in the mood to grant any favours.

The _Enterprise_ technicians had spent a few days here, checked everything twice and thrice, and then – finding everything all right and in working order – returned to their ship. The merciful Chief Wong beamed over a bunk and a heap of dehydrated foot, so that Tigh didn’t have to sleep on the metal floor and could at least eat something every day – the food rations came in self-heating packages. Tigh was especially thankful for the bunk. His back had suffered enough during this mission, and it would take time until he could visit the Life Center aboard the _Galactica_.

Boomer secured the other Libran basestar, but he was luckier. Charlene Masters accompanied him, assigned there by Mr Scott to make detailed notes for Starfleet’s Engineering Division about the structure and the working of Cylon technology. During their latest contact Boomer had told Tigh that – should it come to a break in the _Quorum_ – he would sing up to Libra. Even though he planned to visit Mars Solis first, to marry Charlene according to local traditions.

The next hail came from _Sire_ Togo, who lived aboard the biggest Libran ship, the _Yahalon_ (which, compared to the other ships in the colonial fleet, was still nothing more than a flying rustbin). The old councilman thanked Tigh in the name of all surviving Librans and officially announced his retreat.

“As you are doubtlessly aware of it by now, Colonel, I have selected you as my successor,” the fragile old man said in the peculiar Libran dialect that practically nobody else but Librans understood. “Your position and your success mean a great deal for Libra… I mean for _New_ -Libra. _Sire_ Solon supports my choice.”

“You honour me, _Sire_ Togo,” Tigh replied thoughtfully, “although I must admit, I’ve never considered a diplomatic career. It doesn’t exactly match my interests… or my abilities. But I won’t neglect my duty towards our people. In fact, I’ve already selected a member of my staff: Captain Boomer.”

“I know,” Togo nodded. “To tell the truth, I applied a little… pressure, so that Boomer would accept. By the way, I’ve heard that you have founded a new family, Colonel. I assume this is a fact that plays some role in your hesitation to accept your new assignment.”

“To a certain extent, yes,” Tigh admitted. “Although I must say, _Siress_ Uhura proved very helpful. She has offered to use her influence to secure a safe area in East-Africa where our remaining people could live, should we not succeed in defending Libra’s interest in the new colonies.”

“This is not an issue,” Togo told him. “The negotiations aren’t public yet, but I think I can tell you about it – after all, you are supposed to take over for me. The Federation decided to let us have an entire outer sector, with four solar systems capable of supporting human life. Of course, on most planets terraforming has just begun, so for the first ten or fifteen _yahrens_ it would be necessary to live in domed cities on them, but the problem of founding new colonies seems to be solved for us.”

“I assume Libra was assigned one of those untamed planets,” Tigh said bitterly. The old councilman sighed in defeat.

“You know how these things work, Colonel. We got the corner nearest to inhabited Federation territory. The solar system only has two habitable planets – the Virgons got the other one. Gemini, Sagittaria and Aquarius will get the neighbouring system, Scorpia, Taura, Piscia and Cancera the third one, and the rest, including Caprica and Leo, the farthest one.”

“They probably have the chance of extending their territory in their mind already,” Tigh commented sarcastically. _Sire_ Togo gave him a tired smile.

“No doubt about that, Colonel. But for us, that’s not so bad. The Federation assured us that this sector doesn’t border any known hostile interstellar powers, but how much of their galaxy do they truly know? I don’t mind having got the best-protected corner of the sector.”

“Neither do I,” Tigh agreed. “My main concern is how and when will we be able to actually populate our new home. Maybe we should accept _Siress_ Uhura’s offer and settle at least the old people and the families with small children on Earth. Temporarily, of course, until we can make New-Libra at least partially habitable.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion, Colonel” the old councilman nodded. “Please begin the negotiations in his case. In a short time, you’ll have the official authorization anyway to make treaties in Libra’s name. I’ll consult the Elders and send technicians to our two basestars to place the necessary codes and make repairs.”

“The _Quorum_ accepted our claim for both basestars?” Tigh asked in surprise.

“They didn’t have a chance to do otherwise,” Togo replied, and for the first time, there was a mischievous gleam in his tired old eyes. “ _Sire_ Uri was quite upset, of course, when it turned out that Captain Boomer made his claim to Libra’s advantage, and he protested loudly that this way Leo would have no basestar of its own, but there was nothing he could do against it. Tradition, Colonel. Isn’t it a wonderful thing?”

“It certainly is,” Tigh grinned. “What about the other basestars?”

“Caprica got two of them,” Togo explained with a wry grin; “not really a surprise, is it? Gemini and Scorpia both got one, and the Nomes of Borallus got their hands on the last one. This way, there will be at least one space station in each system. I think it’s a good thing. Our new worlds will need sufficient protection.”

“The Nomes ended up in the same system with Caprica and Leo?” Tigh chucked. “That will be a problem I’m afraid.”

Togo shook his head. “Fortunately, not in the same system. The sector has a fifth system with a red giant star as its primary and three very large planets with environments almost as horrible as it used to be on Borallus. The Nomes’ code of honour demands that they take the planets that are their old home the most alike. I don’t doubt that they will populate the entire system eventually, but since they live on fundamentally different worlds than we do, they won’t be a threat for us. In fact, they could even provide an added layer of security. They are fierce warriors.”

“I see,” Tigh nodded. “Well, that’s good news. What’s the sector called where the Federation wants to settle us?”

“So far, it has no name, just a registration number. But the Federation Council decided to rename it to _Kobol Sector_ … in homage of our lost worlds and out of respect for the sacrifices of our people.” Togo paused. “I assume you want to live on Earth for the time being, Colonel?”

“For a while, yes,” Tigh replied. “At least until New-Libra becomes habitable. The terraforming technicians won’t need my presence. And since the majority of our people will hopefully be living on Earth anyway, I’ll be needed there. Not to mention the personal aspects.”

“I never intended to make a desk-riding diplomat out of you,” Togo chuckled. “Have you considered joining the Federation space exploration program?”

“I’ve considered it, yes,” Tigh admitted, “but apparently, I’ll have other duties.”

“Libra cannot afford a space exploration program yet,” Togo agreed. “Not even all our worlds together could do that, to be honest. Still, I strongly believe that we cannot afford to give up representing our interests in the interstellar diplomacy and trade. Ambassador Sarek told me that we have those rights, as allied worlds.”

“I can’t quite follow you, _Sire_ Togo.”

“According to Ambassador Sarek, each allied world is entitled to delegate diplomatic observers to any of Starfleet’s big ships of exploration. And since _Siress_ Uhura is serving aboard such a ship, the choice would be obvious.”

“But the _Enterprise_ is going to drydock for refitting now, for a lengthy time, maybe for _yahrens_ ,” Tigh reminded the old senator.

“I’m aware of that, Colonel. But you, too, will need that time to become familiar with Starfleet’s technology and protocols. And not only you but also Captain Boomer, Corporal Rigel, Omega, and all the younger officers. If we want to catch up with the development here, our best people must learn… and learn a lot.”

“Doubtlessly, Sire Togo. I take that my assignment to the _Enterprise_ is a done thing already?”

“It is. You’d be of the most use there, for the next _yahrens_.”

“I see. Has it been decided, too, whom to assign as my staff members?”

“The choice is more or less yours, Colonel. Only Gemini insisted that a _socialator_ should be among them. They argue, and they’re actually right, that no one else can handle alien civilizations quite as well as _socialators_ do, based on their special training.”

“In that case, I’ll take Cassiopeia,” Tigh shrugged. “At least I know her and can trust her. Besides, having someone with medical knowledge in my team could come handy.”

“Very well, Colonel. We’ll see that Cassiopeia participates a few courses designed for Federation diplomats. With an attaché like her on your side, you won’t have to bother with questions of protocol. And Colonel…”

“Yes, _Sire_ Togo?”

“Congratulations to both your new assignment and to your new family.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Commander Spock and his parents were sitting in the hydroponics gardens of Starbase 18. Amanda preferred the gardens to the impersonal guest quarters of the Starbase. For the two Vulcans, the place was irrelevant, of course.

“Are you really sure about your decision?” Amanda asked, surprised and maybe a little disappointed. “Starfleet was the way you have chosen for your life… and you were willing to pay any price for it.”

Spock nodded. He knew his mother was speaking about the long and bitter conflict between him and his father, caused by his career choice. A choice with the result that he and Sarek didn’t speak to each other for eighteen years.

“That is correct, Mother. And I have gone this way as long as it seemed the right one for me. Maybe one day I shall return to this path. Right now, however, I find it more important to return to my roots… to my home.”

“It’s high time,” his mother commented soberly. “More than four years have gone by since your last _pon farr_. You must seek out a new bonding partner… and soon.”

Spock nodded again. His mother had directly addressed the sensitive topic no Vulcan mother would address publicly.

“I am well aware of the necessity, Mother. That is one of the reasons why I need to return to Vulcan.”

“Have you informed Captain Kirk about your decision?” Sarek asked.

Spock shook his head. He knew, this step wouldn’t be easy, for either of them. His commanding officer was also a friend – and he depended on Spock’s reliable, logical knowledge. Still, there was no other way to go. Not for a while.

“I shall inform him later,” he said. “Right now, we are all entitled to six standard months' worth of home leave. I have enough time to consider everything carefully.”


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of this story - thanks for joining us for the ride. Look out for "Lost Years #1 - The Joy Machine", coming up next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The customs and beliefs portrayed in this chapter are the results of my imagination. I don’t know of any existing cult that would match the descriptions. Uhura’s son is supposed to look like a very young LeVar Burton.

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***   
**EPILOGUE**

It was early spring of the year 2269 in Earth reckoning, but nobody in Munguroo really cared for how outside their home time was counted. What mattered was that the great feast of Spring Equinox wasn’t there yet. The people in the village lived their lives and did their work in a rhythm that was older than either Earth or Federation reckoning. A rhythm that was naturally coded in their very genes.

Kitharo Nikeria walked barefooted on the stomped dirt path that led to the temple area – although in the opposite direction. He was heading towards the flat-roofed white limestone house of his family, a house that branched out into every direction like a labyrinth. This house had grown with the clan through the centuries ever since Nyota Kahama, the First Mother had begun to build it. For outsiders, it looked like a confusing maze, but no small child had ever got lost in it since the clan had been founded. It was their home.

Kitharo was the firstborn son of the First Daughter of his clan and thus bound to the traditions even more than the other children. He climbed the flat, sometimes broken limestone steps that led to the central building of the Great House slowly, thoughtfully. Yes, this was his home – the home of every First Daughter, regardless if they walked the paths of the jungle or that of the stars, as his mother did. In the basin of the anteroom, a basin covered with a colourful mosaic of small ceramic tiles, the water was gleaming softly, invitingly. The youngling let his brightly striped shroud fall to the floor and submerged into the ritual bath, as tradition demanded after visiting the temple. His teenage cousin, Yva, together with whom his aunt Kamala raised him while his mother was out among the stars, appeared wordlessly between the columns of the anteroom with a rough linen towel to rub him dry after leaving the basin.

“The message has arrived,” the tall, thin girl, already a head taller than Kitharo although three years his junior, said quietly. “ _Kiha_ Uhura and the new brethren have left the spaceport at sunrise and will be here soon. I have laid out your festive robes, _amuntu_.”

Kitharo hated festive robes (which fourteen-year-old boy did not?) but during the seven years spent with his mother’s family he had learned that in this matter – like in many others – the opinion of women decided in Munguroo. Thus he accepted Yva’s decision without arguing and put on the wide-sleeved, richly embroidered, long robe which, in fact, suited him well, elongating his short, stocky body due to the parallel folds. Then he hurried out to the Place of Meetings to join the waiting crowd.

By that time nearly the entire village had gathered there. The women, wearing gold-embroidered, brightly-coloured shrouds, one end of which they threw forth over a bare shoulder, with small golden bells decorating their plaited hair, looked more like statues from the temple than living people. The men looked very dignified in their festive robes and the round or square embroidered caps on their heads. Only one was bare-headed among them: the tall, slender, beautiful Sahel, the first prophet who had dwelt in the temple area of Munguroo for the last three hundred years.

Kitharo knew Sahel well. Once – by the order of the Mothers – the prophet had been engaged to Kitharo’s mother. However, as their _mesq_ did not resulted in children, it was nullified after the proper period of time. Sahel and Uhura remained good friends, especially after Sahel had married Uhura’s younger sister. This marriage, finally, was blessed with children, and though Kitharo genuinely liked Sahel, he always regretted that the prophet was allowed to live in the temple while his mother, the true guardian of it, had to remain separated.

But the time of separation was finally over. Uhura had told the Mothers through subspace radio (a tool present but extremely rarely used in Munguroo) that she had entered the _mesq_ with her new partner, and that their love has fruited in a new life. The Mothers not only allowed her to return home, they also gave their consent to bring with her the lost brethren who had finally found a way home, after a long journey through far-away, cold space. They would settle in the neighbouring villages that had been abandoned during the dark years of servitude and partially still not repopulated, until their new home among the stars was ready for them… or beyond that, if they wanted. 

Kitharo, who had been born on a distant planet and spent several years of his childhood with his mother aboard a starship, waited for the newcomers in excitement. If he only considered what beautiful and frightening new tales the newcomers would tell, his heartbeat increased immediately. In the heart of his hearts he knew that once he grew up, he wouldn’t remain between the sacred and safe but narrow borders of Munguroo. Not possessing the mystic abilities that forced Sahel back from the stars to serve the temple, he didn’t have to fear that anyone would keep him here against his will.

Suddenly a murmur spread across the gathering. Someone plucked the strings of a _kissar_ , and the singers of the temple raised their clear, ringing voices to begin a hymn to greet the homecomers.

Rarely were modern transport vehicles allowed in the temple areas of East-Africa. This conscious return to an earlier, simpler lifestyle served to protect their ancient culture that had nearly fallen victim to foreign slavers and oppressors, and the reconstruction of which had cost great efforts. But this was an exception. The large, solar cell fuelled hoovercars were transporting several thousand people: Kitharo estimated their numbers between eight and nine thousand. Their simple clothes were different from everything he’d ever seen, and many of them were wearing a uniform.

One of the uniformed people, a small man probably in his early forties, sat next to Kitharo’s mother in the small glider that was leading the caravan. Uhura flew the glider personally, but she wasn’t wearing her short, red Starfleet uniform anymore. She was wearing the ceremonial robe of the Eldest Daughter of an Old Family.

The caravan held outside the temple area. The people who, by their looks, could have arrived from any neighbouring village, get off the vehicles and continued their way to the Place of Meetings on foot. Kitharo backed off unnoticed. He was familiar with the rite of greeting already, and though as a member of the family he was entitled to participate, he didn’t want to be publicly reunited with his mother.

The anteroom was pleasantly cool after the heat in the outside. Kitharo sat down on one of the mosaic-covered clay benches and waited patiently. He knew the official greeting was a lengthy ceremony when someone like his mother returned – someone who once had been supposed to become the guardian of the temple – but it would find an end eventually. Munguroo’s children were taught patience from a very young age on, and during the recent seven years he’d had plenty of opportunity to practice this particular virtue.

A shadow was cast on the tiled floor. Kitharo didn’t need to look up to know who had arrived; he’d recognize his mother’s personal scent anywhere, at any time. He rose, and – as tradition demanded – knelt before his mother and touched his forehead to the floor.

In the next moment he felt his mother’s light touch upon the nape of his neck.

“Rise, my beloved son,” the long-missed, dear voice said, and he obeyed.

His mother didn’t seem to have changed in the recent years at all. On the contrary, she looked younger and more beautiful than in his memories. True, last time they had met she hadn’t been in a very good shape. Now, however, she was positively radiating happiness.

“Welcome home, Mother – it has been a long time,” the youngling said quietly; then he turned to the silent man accompanying his mother, a man who seemed to have gone through a lot. “And I welcome you, too, who made it possible for my mother to return. This house will be your house as well, as long as the Ancestors will watch over your love.”

The newcomer answered his greeting with a wordless nod, and Kitharo turned back to his mother.

“Has he already received his name? A name that he will be able to use in the temple as well?”

“His name, as told by the Ancestors during the Dreaming, is Imaro,” Uhura replied, “which means ‘he-who-is-loved’.”

Kitharo bowed to his mother’s new bondmate. “Welcome to the temple, Imaro. May the Ancestors make your name a blessing for you – for both of you – for the rest of your lives.”

~ The End ~ 

Soledad Cartwright@1995-08-14.


End file.
